Nec Temere, Nec Timide
by MirandaMinerva
Summary: Neither Rashly, Nor Timidly; Miranda/Andrea; Post-film/book: Andy returns to Elias-Clarke as a successful lawyer; Embers ignite, sparks fly
1. Anywhere But Here

TITLE: Nec Temere, Nec Timide (Neither Rashly, Nor Timidly)

RATING: Starts as G/PG (Chapter 1), progresses to MA (for Chapter 6)

PAIRING: Miranda/Andrea

WORDS: 29,297 (approx.) (total)

SUMMARY: LiveJournal Christmas Challenge/Gift request for Liz_Tempest's request --"Andy breaks up with Nate after she leaves Runway and becomes a lawyer, a VERY successful lawyer, and is asked by Irv to be the lawyer for Runway and she accepts. Her and Miranda meet again, of course, and realize they are in love. And a VERY happy ending Please! Im all about smut so thats a plus. :)"

DISCLAIMER: The story idea – not mine; Main characters from the book and film versions of DWP – not mine; Real people, places, companies, products – not mine; some of the Elias-Clarke changes/downsizing – ripped right from Conde Nast changes in 2009 – again, not mine; Miranda's references to Hillary Clinton interview – ripped from the December 2009 issue of Vogue – as in, not mine; Story title is the motto of University of Edinburgh – (all together now) not mine. All that is honestly mine is the manner in which I combine these ingredients to create a unique reading experience. Bon appétit!

A/N: I found a song to be a great tie-in while editing Chapter 1, which prompted finding similar country music songs to tie-in as a theme for each subsequent chapter.

* * *

Chapter 1: "Anywhere But Here" (k.d. lang)

* * *

Andy tipped the driver and stepped away as the taxi pulled out into traffic. With a weary sigh, she extended the handle on her rolling suitcase, lifted her carry-on and purse onto one shoulder, and crept up the front walkway to her building.

It took every last bit of energy to make it up the stairs and to the apartment door. While digging out her key, half the contents of her purse spilled out.

She cursed. It felt good. It felt really good.

The apartment was dark when she entered, so she initially chalked up the chill in the air to that. However, when she flicked on the light switch, she let her purse and carry-on bag fall to the floor with a thud.

The apartment had been ransacked. Most of the furniture was gone. There was a stack of books, magazines, and DVDs next to the sofa, the only piece of furniture in eyesight. With a gulp, she felt her eyes tear up. As she stood there, taking it all in, she realized the door hadn't been ajar. The latch was unharmed. None of the windows were broken.

And that stack by the sofa.

Nate had moved out.

Andy stood there, contemplating this possible reality. After several minutes ticked by, she turned, pulled her suitcase inside, gathered up the spilt contents of her purse, and shut the door.

The sound echoed through the nearly empty apartment.

"Honey, I'm home," she intoned, before collapsing on the sofa in a heap.

The flight had been long and she had done some thinking while trying to get as comfortable as possible in a tiny, cramped seat. Perhaps, since Nate was working, she could go ahead and find some small, temp job while applying to a New York-based law school. If she had gotten into Stanford, surely she could get into Columbia or even Cornell.

Now, as she sat, slumped, clothes wrinkled, stomach growling, internal clock completely haywire, no job and, it appeared, no boyfriend, Andy felt lost.

Several hours (or so she assumed) later, Andy woke, a crick in her neck and her stomach literally cramped with hunger pains. She wrestled herself up off the sofa and stumbled through the kitchen area, the bedroom (sans bed, she noticed), and into the bathroom. After she had completed a half-hearted freshening up, she grabbed her wallet and cell phone, threw them into her purse, and went to go find food.

Several blocks later, she found her feet carrying her into a small deli where she plopped down resolutely in a booth and perused the menu with vacant eyes.

"I recommend the chicken noodle soup, coffee, and a sundae." Andy lowered her menu to see an elderly gentleman standing in front of her in a worn white oxford and thread-bare black slacks, a stained half-apron around his mid-section.

"Um."

"Chicken soup is a warm hug, coffee brightens your mind, and a sundae – well, it looks like you need a little splurge."

"Sure. Whatever." Andy drops the menu back between the napkin dispenser and the ketchup bottle sitting on the laminated tabletop. Food was food. What did she care about the calories in the sundae now. Neither Miranda nor Nate were in her life anymore to care.

Right as rain, the chicken noodle soup was like a warm hug on a winter's day and Andy realized that maybe, just maybe, she might get through this. As she dug into the hot fudge sundae and sipped the best coffee to ever pass her lips, she contemplated her options.

She had come to New York with Nate, thinking that being a writer was her ticket. But, difficulty in finding a job and her subsequent work at Runway had given her reasons to rethink her ideas on writing. But what else was there? She wasn't sure she could get any sort of job within the New York area after walking out on Miranda. She had little hope of that stunt going unpunished.

She had turned down her spot at Stanford Law School and likely couldn't get in for the next term, starting in a few months. Still, law school remained a possibility – she had been thinking about it on the flight back from Paris, so why should she completely let that go? Andy had wanted to be a lawyer since childhood, and it did require an ability to communicate effectively, both in written word and orally. It would be tricky, but…maybe could find a way.

After finishing her meal, Andy paid the bill, left a small tip (she hadn't stopped at the ATM beforehand, so didn't have a lot of change in her wallet), and slowly wandered home.

Once inside, she unpacked her laptop, logged on, and reviewed the electronic acceptance forms from Stanford she had saved. After careful review, she wrote a succinct note and sent it off. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she might just get in this Fall. If not, at least she tried. She spent the next couple of hours checking out New York-based law schools.

With weary eyes, she changed into her pajamas, cocooned into a blanket, and fell asleep on the sofa. She would contemplate getting a new bed tomorrow. For now, she had too much else on her mind.

The next morning, Andy unpacked her bags, showered, and took a large load of laundry down to the Laundromat down the street. While she waited, she completed the online applications for a couple of the schools that had them set up electronically and updated her résumé.

When she returned to the near empty apartment with clean laundry, Andy marveled at how much she really wasn't upset by Nate's leaving – just inconvenienced by it. Miranda had been right – there WAS a little bit of her in Andy. She shivered at the thought the older woman had seen right into her soul. After a moment's contemplation, Andy decided that Miranda didn't care much about Andy, let alone enough to look into her heart and make such thoughtful proclamations – likely, she was momentarily curious by Andy's actions and threw out whatever came to mind at the moment. Surely the Editor-in-Chief could give a rat's ass about her assistant.

Within a week of her return to New York, everything started coming together well. Nate stopped by to drop off a check to help pay for one last month's worth of rent, likely out of guilt. They had a small fight, but Andy felt smug satisfaction when she was able to tell him how she had left _Runway_, had appealed her application to Stanford, and was accepted. The look on his face was worth it. The wussy way in which he had moved out while she was gone had sealed his fate – there was no way she could imagine resurrecting their relationship after he had been so spineless.

........

That September, Andy walked along the campus of Stanford Law School, enthused about her decision. Despite the pain of leaving Miranda and _Runway_, finding she had lost her boyfriend, and having felt completely lost, it had all worked out for the best. California was sunny and warm, her classmates an eclectic mix, and the course work was challenging. As an added bonus, being on the West Coast put her well out of Miranda's reach, in the event the woman had determined to make her life miserable if she had stayed in New York.

During her first year, Andy walked repeatedly by a statue that caught her eye in the quad. It depicted two young females making out on a bench. Each time, the sculpture gave her pause for thought.

By her second year, she didn't much notice it. She was, after all, in Northern California, a bastion for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender activism; a touchy-feely, culturally sensitive, politically-correct-on-steroids world. She wasn't, therefore, surprised, when she fell for a slightly older woman in a public policy Master's program at UC Berkeley. They were both working at the same law firm during the summer before her 3rd year.

Sherry was tall, thin, had pale blue eyes and a patrician nose. Despite the fact that the woman was only 32, she was already sprouting grey-white streaks at her temples. Andy reveled in Sherry's dynamic personality and eclectic sense of style. The woman had been an assistant for a Washington state Senator, specializing in environmental policy work. Sherry had an astute grasp of the law, considering she wasn't a lawyer. She and Andy worked well together that summer and, Andy had to admit, they worked well together in bed as well. To be honest, Andy couldn't believe how marvelous sex could be. Nonetheless, both of them put career before relationships, so when the Fall term started, they went their separate ways amicably. Despite the fact that Stanford was rather close to Berkeley, they didn't keep in regular contact.

After having the long-term relationship with Nate go horribly awry, and seeing how even a successful businesswoman like Miranda Priestly couldn't seem to maintain a happy, healthy, lengthy marriage, Andy had given up any desire to attempt anything other than short-term relationship joy.

Andy had an aptitude and a passion for the law, and during a great course Stanford had on 'Entertainment and the Law,' she made an impression on Carolyn Kepcher, from Trump Enterprises. The woman came to give a guest lecture and Andy's questions earned her a request to stay after the presentation. They spoke for a few minutes and the woman extended an invitation to interview with Ivanka for an internship following graduation.

Andy bit at the offer, and found that discussing her experience working for Miranda at _Runway_ made as favorable impression on Ivanka as her summer law internship and coursework did.

........

Andy graduated Magna Cum Laude, as she had hoped, and she secured an enviable position at Trump Industries' Los Angeles office. She stayed on for three years, which the corporation required for giving her the time and assistance in preparing for the California bar exam when she first started.

Those three years were miserable, as Andy felt the Southern California climate was unbearable and the entertainment industry types there were woefully out of touch with reality. At least up near Stanford, the local entertainment companies were techie-based LucasFilms® and Pixar® Studios. Their staff at least had a skill-set that made any attitude they had bearable. SoCal, as it was called, seemed to be full of false bravado. The dating scene was tiring, too. West Coasters, both male and female, tended to have some fairy-tale illusion that long-term relationships were truly possible and an ideal that should be pursued.

Andy, despite living along the West Coast for over half-a-decade, simply could not buy into that particular hallucination. Upon completing her required term of service, Andy interviewed for a variety of positions in New York, making the bicoastal flight frequently enough that she began to know the regulars among the flight attendants. Monday mornings, when she returned to work at Trump Industries' L.A. office, she was reminded why she wanted to leave.


	2. Here You Come Again

Chapter 2: "Here You Come Again" (by Dolly Parton)

* * *

California lawyers were just too friendly, too soft – each trip to the East Coast reminded Andy of this fact. And there were other perks to making the move - the Northeast actually had seasons and she could go on a date without the other person thinking it was anything other than that. Her credentials were impeccable, and Andy knew that she could secure almost any position she sought.

Of course, she also knew that at this point if she ran into Miranda Priestly she could hold her head high – the fashion maven wouldn't be able to threaten her employability or make her feel insecure with a simple glance. Andy had received a job offer from the CBS News division at a much lower salary than she was hoping for and was about to take it when she got a callback from Houghton-Mills. She hadn't been that enthused about the position there, but it paid well. Plus, it was as close to the publishing world as she was likely to get to her undergraduate dream of being a reporter.

One of the members of their lead counsel called to tell her that while Andy's experience didn't fit with what they were looking to add to their team, he had passed her name and particulars on to a friend within Elias-Clarke Publishing. While it seemed unusual for one publisher to refer her to another, she wasn't about to kick a possible gift horse in the mouth. Even if it was Elias-Clarke.

Sure enough, the next day, Andy got a call from Elias-Clarke's Legal Department. They were impressed with her résumé and asked when she could come in for an interview.

That next Friday, Andy hopped yet another NY-bound flight, caught a cab, and stepped out at a familiar structure. She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt, took a deep breath, and entered the Elias-Clarke building. Amazingly, it hadn't changed much in the last 6 years.

Her panel interview (Legal, Human Resources, and Public Relations) went well enough, and she was asked to return again later in the afternoon for a couple of individual interviews – one with the lead counsel, Mike Birch, and the other with the Corporate Chairman, Irv Ravitz. Andy could have been knocked over with a feather. She had studied up on Elias-Clarke's legal history as soon as she had been asked to interview, and had been surprised that Irv was still at the helm of the periodical publishing conglomerate. Obviously, his son either wasn't ready or wasn't interested in taking on his father's role yet. Still, it was surreal, for lack of a better word, to be seeing him again.

The interview with Mike had gone exceptionally well, and Mike's secretary/assistant escorted her to Irv's office, explaining that if she was interviewing with the Chairman, it was a sign she had gotten the job. Irv's assistant smiled warmly at Andy and let her know it would just be a minute before she would be seen – Mr. Ravitz was finishing up a budget meeting. Andy sat down and picked up a copy of _Cottage Gardens_ sitting on the end table, not really looking at it, trying to wrap her head around the possibility of working in the building again after so long. She wasn't sure she wanted to be there, so close to Miranda. To be honest, she wasn't altogether certain how the mercurial Editor-In-Chief of _Runway_ would react to Andy being back in her world again, but in an altogether different position. Perhaps Miranda would pretend that she didn't even know Andy, whenever they got around to meeting again. It was unlikely that the woman would want to admit that such a successful lawyer could have once been one of her peons. With a sigh, Andy closed the magazine on her lap and bent over her satchel to dig out a Tic-Tac. As she did so, she heard a door click open and several people shuffling past.

Andy didn't need to lift her head to know that Miranda Priestly was among the group. The light scent of Miranda's signature perfume tickled her nose and made her smile involuntarily. And for a moment, as Andy's fingers found the plastic container, she felt a slight chill in the air.

Then, just as she was about to sit upright, the chill was gone. Pouring a couple of the small breath mints in her mouth, she raised her head and dared to look after the group. Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of a pair of shapely legs in a slender black skirt (Anne Klein, Andy guessed) and a pair of Dolce & Gabbana heels silently crossing from the carpet of the executive suite, cross the entryway, and glide over the marble floor near the elevators, caught up amidst a sea of people.

"Ms. Sachs, Mr. Ravitz will see you now."

Andy jerked her head back around, and took in a deep breath. She hadn't realized it, but she had been holding her breath while following Miranda's movements. She made her way past the conference room that had just been vacated and entered the only slightly smaller office of Irv Ravitz, Chairman and CEO of Elias-Clarke Publishing.

The interview was short enough, and Andy was reminded of the sleazy sexist that Irv had been years ago had not changed during the intermittent years. When she left his office, she was asked to return to Mr. Birch's office. She made a brief stop in the restrooms en route, simply to wash her hands, reapply her lipstick, and brush her hands over her outfit, attempting to brush away the filthy dust that she felt must have settled on her during her interview with Irv.

She was not surprised at the job offer Mr. Birch ('Please, call me Mike') extended to her, although the salary was far beyond what she had hoped it might be. Feeling buoyed, Andy left the building feeling pretty happy. She caught a cab back to the airport and returned to L.A. long enough to coordinate for her things to be packed up for the move to New York and to turn in her resignation with Trump Enterprises.

Within three weeks, Andy had left L.A. for good, found a delightfully well-lit and airy loft not far from her new job, and was shopping for decorations at Crate and Barrel.

Andy realized that when it was time to make a change – whether going to law school, taking the internship with Trump Enterprises, or signing on with Elias-Clarke – the pieces fell together quickly, making each decision feel quite right. Leaving Miranda in Paris – during Fashion Week – had set into motion a series of options and successes that Andy knew had made the unprofessional _Runway _departure more than worth it.

Her first day on the job, she was enthused to find she would have a decently sized office; in Trump Enterprises' Los Angeles' building, she and another junior associate had shared office space the size of a broom closet. Here at Elias-Clarke, she had access to a paralegal named Sam, who was less than friendly. But, after spending several years in California, Andy knew she had likely gone a little soft and would need to work on restoring the mantle of indifference necessary for life in New York.

Her internal clock hadn't fully adjusted to the time change, and so she found herself descending to the office cafeteria around 3pm, looking for lunch. Unfortunately, the eatery had shut down for the day already. So, she crossed the street to the Starbucks feeling a certain nostalgia returning to her.

In a moment of pure insanity, she ordered two extra hot non-fat lattes, a coffee and a low-fat apple cranberry muffin. Getting on the elevators back in Elias-Clarke, though, fear began to creep in. What was she thinking??

She stopped at her office on the 3rd floor, planning to ditch her plan. But, after placing the bag with the muffin down on her desk, she took a sip of her latte, and realized she needed to just go with it – getting a possible run-in with Miranda out of the way early would prevent her from fretting about it endlessly. She continued to sip at the beverage while she strolled back out to the elevators and rode up to the 9th floor, _Runway_'s floor. Stepping off, she almost ran right into Nigel. Literally.

Andy smiled warmly at him, "Hi, Nige."

He did a double take, and broke out into a large grin.

"Good God, Six. How are you doing?"

"Fine. You are looking great. I have to deliver this," she lifted tray of caffeinated beverages, "but can we talk later? You're office is still –" she broke off, pointing in the direction of the Art Department.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm still there." There was a hesitancy in his voice, and his eyes were fixated on the cups in her hands.

"Good luck with that. She's in a foul mood today."

"What's new?" Andy chuckled. Thankfully, Nigel smiled at this, before continuing on his way in the opposite direction. Andy took a slow breath and finished her walk towards the Editor-In-Chief's office. When she reached the outer space, she stopped. There was now only one assistant's desk. Obviously, likely due to the financial times, Miranda had to pare down to just one assistant, which Andy was sure had irritated the woman to no end. A young, slender woman with golden blonde hair sat at Emily's old desk, fingers flying across a keyboard as she listened to someone on the other end of the phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek.

Andy waited for a moment, caught the young woman's eye, dropped off the coffee, and moved towards the inner office with her own and Miranda's lattes.

"Can you hold for just a second, Jim?" The young woman put a hand over the receiver.

"Is that a –"

"Extra hot non-fat latte." Andy held up one of the two remaining drinks. "Yep."

"Oh, you are an angel."

Andy grinned, "Nah. I'm Andy Sachs, from Legal. I'll just pop this on her desk."

"Um…"

"I won't say a thing to her. I'll just put it down on her desk, and leave. She won't even look up from whatever she's working on." Andy's time at Trump Enterprises had imbued her with the ability to project self-confidence, even when she didn't have it. And the fact that she was wearing a new pink and brown print Giles blouse and slacks didn't hurt either.

"Yeah," the girl looked a little nervous, "okay."

Andy nodded, and pushed open the door to Miranda's office, walking with falsely sure steps. She barely noticed that the office décor had changed. There was now a cream-colored berber rug, and the glass-topped desk had been replaced by one of dark cherry wood. The space was still clean, sparsely decorated and, despite the general changes in decor, felt quite clinical.

Miranda's chair was turned towards the window, a small amount of grey-white hair peeking up from over the top of her high-backed leather throne.

Andy took a slow breath and placed the cup down on the desktop, saying a quiet prayer of gratitude that Miranda didn't see her. This mission was incredibly risky, and she knew it. It was definitely NOT one of her brighter ideas to approach Miranda on her very first day of work. The vacillating feelings she'd had about the plan were a sure sign that it really hadn't been a wise move.

As she retreated from the space, she heard Miranda's chair start to swivel. With an attempt at casual speed, she reached for the door with one hand, her own latte shaking in the other hand. She fervently hoped she would slide out before Miranda could glance up, if at all, to see her.

She heard an intake of breath and knew she was dead. But, as she continued to slip out the door, Miranda said nothing. So, maybe she was home free after all. With the feeling that she had just escaped death, Andy returned to her office and the stack of cases that Mr. Birch (Mike) wanted her to study before the staff meeting on Wednesday. In her fearful retreat from the devil's lair, she had completely forgotten to stop and see Nigel.

Tuesday, Andy worked from home, setting up a secure connection to the office and checking out the electronic files intermittently while directing the movers on where to put all the boxes that had arrived from California. She did not check her email for a few hours during the late afternoon, and when she sat down with a salad and a diet soda that evening and peeked at her Inbox, she saw a message from Sam and three voicemails from a 'Charity' in the _Runway_ offices.

She read Sam's email first. Not good. It seems that the 3 voice messages from Charity were a request from Miranda to set up a lunch meeting with Andy on Wednesday. After Charity had been unable to reach Andy, she had called Sam. His email indicated that he had told Charity it wasn't possible, as Wednesdays were the legal department's regularly scheduled working lunch staff meeting. He also indicated that Charity was less than excited to hear this, but would reschedule accordingly. He closed his email with a note that Andy should clarify with Charity that he was not Andy's secretary.

She then listened to the messages from Charity. It was obvious from the girl's tone of voice that Miranda was no less demanding now than she was six years ago. Andy left a return voicemail at Charity's number, indicating her sincere apologies for missing the earlier calls. She left her cell number and indicated that while she was unavailable for lunch on Wednesdays, she would be as accommodating as possible to whenever Miranda's schedule permitted.

Wednesday morning, Andy went into the office early. She stopped by the Art Department to see if Nigel was there yet.

"Nige. Sorry I forgot to stop by the other day. How are you doing?"

"Great. Great. We have to completely reshoot some pieces since the photographer's memory card was accidentally destroyed in swimming pool incident last weekend. Don't ask. Just another day. What are you up to? I'm going to keep working while we talk, if you don't mind."

Andy chuckled, "Not a problem, Nigel. Tell you what," she reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and grabbed a pencil from off the work desk, "here's my work number and email." She scribbled on the back of the card, "My cell is on the back. If you want to do lunch or dinner or drinks, just let me know."

Nigel took the card with one hand while he moved negatives around on the light board with the other.

Andy turned to leave. As she stepped out the door, she turned briefly to impart a final remark, smiling, "I am only a few floors down, so I'm sure it won't be too hard to coordinate our schedules at some point." She let the glass door close behind her and caught the next elevator downstairs.

She barely entered her office when the phone rang.

"Six! I can't believe it. You're back. I mean, you're back HERE. What are you doing Friday evening? Are you free for drinks?"

"Sure, Nige. That sounds great."

"I'll email you with particulars later then."

"Great."

"Ciao," and with that, he disconnected. Andy grinned. Things were looking up. She had a decent job, a well-decorated loft in New York, and a chance to catch up with Nigel later in the week.

At the weekly staff meeting, the team reviewed their current caseload and Andy had been asked to either assist or sit-in on a couple of cases. She quickly set up meetings with the case leads for each and returned to her office to review a stack of case files Mike had requested her to look over. The department was rather small – a total of four lawyers (herself included), Sam (their paralegal), and Mike's secretary/assistant, Jennifer. After the time spent at Trump Enterprises, it was taking some adjustment to fully appreciate that she was a big fish in a smaller pond, so to speak.

She spent the next few hours typing up a summary of her findings for each case file and left the bundle of records at Mike's office. The floor was silent, as everyone in the department had departed for the day already. Andy was reminded of the evenings she had spent sitting in solitude several floors up awaiting the arrival of the Book.

As she stepped out of the elevator to go home, Andy was surprised to see the dark indigo streaks in the sky – she knew it was late, but it was summer, after all. A glance at her phone told her that it was nearly 8pm. As she strode across the empty lobby, she heard the click-clack of her heels reverberating off the walls and the marble floors, momentarily transported back in time to when the sound of the 'clackers' drove her nearly mad. Pushing through the revolving door, Andy paused to adjust to the seasonal heat and humidity that pushed down on her. As she strode towards the street, a silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb. She had almost walked past it before it sunk in whose Mercedes it might be. Sure enough, Ted got out of the car and stood, looking past Andy, towards the building. It took every ounce of self-control for the young attorney to NOT look back. She knew Miranda must be close behind, and it really wasn't a good idea for her to greet the woman now, as they were both headed home after a long day in the office. Still, she couldn't help the feeling that the fashion editor was watching her.

Andy tried to walk casually, but she could feel her hips putting a little extra swish into each step. Her hand tucked her hair behind her shoulder without really thinking about what she was doing. And her shoulders straightened as she strode down the street. Six years and she still found herself trying to impress Miranda Priestly. Andy silently chastised herself over this realization.

Fifteen minutes later, she was in the air-conditioned womb of her loft, pouring a glass of red wine while preparing pasta, trying to forget about Miranda freaking Priestly. The older woman was becoming truly unavoidable.

As she ate her dinner while watching the news and then the Jon Stewart show, Andy realized she was going to have to face her previous employer eventually. The three close calls she'd had within the last month attested to the fact (outside Irv's office during interviews; inside Miranda's office during her coffee-fetching moment of insanity; this evening just outside the Elias-Clarke building). She needed to buck up and face the music – or, in this case, the executioner.

That night, Andy dreamed of Sherry. Except that Sherry kept changing into Miranda, then back again. Andy woke up early Thursday morning frustrated by the dream. It had made no sense, whatsoever.

She was called into Mike's office before lunch. He expressed delighted surprise at some of her notes on the files she had reviewed. Later, she sat in on one of the cases she had been assigned to assist on, and instantly hit it off with Tom, the first chair. It involved a simple case of copyright infringement, and they were able to quickly draft their argument and get it couriered to the courthouse for filing. She and Tom then walked across the street to the Starbucks for an afternoon coffee and an informal chat.

When they crossed back to the Elias-Clarke building, Andy felt her phone vibrate with a new email message. Once they were safely on the curb, she pulled it up to review. It was a meeting invite sent from Charity. Miranda wanted to have lunch on Monday at some restaurant halfway across town. Andy must have made a small noise, because Tom asked her what was wrong as they entered the elevators.

"Oh, nothing. I used to work as an assistant for Miranda Priestly ages ago. Looks like she wants to do lunch Monday. Likely trying to understand what I'm doing back at Elias-Clarke. I didn't exactly leave her employ on the best of terms." Andy smiled tightly.

Tom chuckled, "Well, from what we've seen in Legal, any _Runway_ employees who leave on other than good terms tend to meet an untimely end. So, I don't think you have to worry. Besides, if she didn't like you, she would have torpedoed your hiring."

"I don't know. I don't get the feeling that Mr. Ravitz and Miranda get along that wonderfully. He might have been glad to hire me just to rub it in her face."

"Well, she may be known in the building as the Snow Queen, but I wouldn't worry. Most of the male editors are more horrific than she is. I think that a lot of people are simply prejudiced against women in leadership positions. You should know this – you worked for Trump Enterprises. I doubt the women there were treated as true equals, either."

Andy stared at Tom, mouth agape.

"What?" The look of confusion on his face was precious.

"So, you are either gay or from California, or both."

"Why, because I can see the truth and speak it?" He grinned. "Actually, I'm quite straight, not that there is anything wrong with being gay. And I'm from Seattle, but you aren't too far off. My brother is gay and my wife's from California. She definitely wears the pants in our household – keeps me and the rugrats in line, I'll tell you that."

Andy chuckled as they got off the elevator and made their way into the outer offices of the Legal Department. Tom turned off towards his corner office. Andy went a little further down the corridor to her office, where she sat and stared out the window in quiet contemplation for a few moments before reviewing her calendar and accepting the lunch invite sent by Charity.

Friday evening, Andy met Nigel for drinks at a cocktail lounge not far from the Elias-Clarke building. The jazz music and ambient lighting created a warm, relaxed atmosphere. While she was a little surprised and initially disappointed to see that he still had the same position at _Runway_, it became obvious during their visit that he was happy and had hit a new stride.

"In fact, other than that day you stopped by, work has become second nature to me, Andy. I actually," here he paused to melodramatically look around the establishment before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper, "have a life outside of work – and a guy to boot."

Andy's smile extended from ear to ear, and she gave his bicep a pat, "Good for you. It's about time."

"Actually, we've been together for almost three years now. We're planning a trip up to Vermont to get married next fall."

"Really? Fantastic. Tell me about him."

"Well, you'll have to meet him. Words cannot express the wonder that is Roger." Nigel's beaming face said it all, warming Andy.

"With a smile like that, Six, and such a brilliant career track, you are likely charming all the men in Manhattan. You know…there are a couple of decent specimens on the 7th floor you might do well by."

Andy furrowed her brow, "_Auto World_ or _Technology Times_?"

"Well, there are a couple of possibilities in _Auto World_, but I was thinking _Technology Times_. Why it is Irv saw fit to put shop boys and computer geeks on the same floor…The territorial battles down there are something you'll want to keep an eye on. Someone gets hurt by a flying wrench or an electrified mouse too often to be safe."

Andy chuckled, "Good to know. How about any prospects on eight?" She waited while the question sunk in.

"The 8th floor? One side is _Runway'_s hair and makeup departments, and the other side used to be _Teen Runway_, but they've been gone for almost a year now, Andy. And, I must say, any man who chooses to work with pre-teen girls needs to be on a watch list."

"I know_ Teen Runway _closed down – another victim of the economic times. I was referring to the new magazine that's set up in their place." Obviously Nigel needed a nudge.

"What? You mean-?" He looked at her as if she had sprouted gills. "Really?"

Andy lifted her Cosmo and took a sip. He watched her, then smirked.

"Oh, you watched too much 'Sex In The City' out there in California, didn't you? Drinking cosmos and temporarily switching teams, like Samantha?"

"No," Andy smirked, "I was thinking more like real-life Cynthia Nixon."

Nigel waved his hands emphatically, "Six, you really can't. This is all wrong. What happened to that young woman who wanted to be a writer? The straight, naïve one with a shy smile? I thought California was supposed to make people soft. And yet, here you are, an evil corporate attorney and asking me about the staff of _Rainbow Travel_. It's all just wrong."

"Nigel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you with this. I thought you might be happy."

"Happy. I might have been happy. But, really." He blinked, "Any magazine so unoriginal as to have 'Rainbow' in their title? You really can't expect me to take you seriously. Their whole staff is so stuck in 80s clichés, they think the mullet is the height of couture."

Andy snickered. Nigel gave her an evaluative stare.

They moved on to chat about West Coast versus East Coast when it came to culture, fashion trends, and dating scenes. The crowd around them began to shift, the after-work set being slowly replaced by the weekend clubbing crowd.

As they got up to leave, Nigel gave her a small hug.

"I'm sorry if I reacted poorly at first. Welcome to the clan." They walked out into the stifling humidity. Andy head towards home while Nigel went back in to the office to pick up some items he wanted to work on over the weekend.

Monday morning, Andy checked her image in the mirror before heading out to work. She had made a call to Nigel over the weekend, conning him into making a few wardrobe recommendations, then went to a handful of designer shops to pick up the items he had listed for her. There was no way on Earth she was going to have lunch with 'la Priestly' in anything that would make the woman regret letting her leave _Runway_ unscathed.

She caught a cab to the restaurant and arrived half-an-hour early, which did nothing for her nerves. Settling in at the bar area with a ginger ale, Andy pulled out her iPhone. She reviewed the restaurant's menu and picked out a couple of dishes that sounded appealing. On her phone, she pulled up the wine matching application and found well-suited combinations. The time in California had provided Andy with an education on wines, but the restaurant seemed fixated on serving French and Italian vintages, and Andy's comprehension of foreign wines required use of the application. By the time Miranda arrived, Andy was feeling fairly comfortable with her preparations.

As the two women followed the maitre d' to a table, Andy allowed Miranda's signature scent to wrap around them as she studied the older woman's figure. She realized that Miranda had neither gained nor lost weight in the intervening years. But, when they sat, she noticed that a couple of wrinkles in the older woman's forehead had become slightly more evident, along with a very subtle sprouting of crow's feet.

Andy was aware that Miranda was studying her as well, but felt oddly at ease with the critical evaluation. Her time at Trump Enterprises had hardened her, at least outwardly, to such appraisal.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miranda." Andy gave her lunch companion a warm smile. Miranda, on the whole, was as beautiful as always, in her own, regal way. Andy was pleased to see that time hadn't changed that at all.

"Mm. I see you have made quite a successful career for yourself, Andrea."

"Um," Andy looked down at her menu, feeling the blush creep up her neck. That was as close to a compliment as one could hope to get from Miranda Priestly. Plus, there was the delightful way that Miranda said her name that warmed her.

The waiter came over at that moment and took their orders. Miranda raised an eyebrow when Andy ordered wine with her meal. Once the waiter had departed, she gave Andy a piercing look.

"Wine at lunch? I believe the boys in legal strongly cautioned against that sort of thing."

"I hope not," Andy responded, evenly. "Well, they may discourage it at business lunches. There was no indication you wanted to discuss work, however, so I think I'm safe. Besides, after six years in California, I've developed a preference for wine."

"After six years, I would think you'd have figured out that California wines are rather inferior."

"I don't know about inferior, but I would agree that there are some outstanding options from elsewhere."

"The Italian red you just ordered shows you have no comprehension of the heavenly nature of a good French vintage."

"Quite the contrary, Miranda. None of the French reds they serve would go well with the steak as prepared, which is likely why they have the Montepulciano d'Abruzzo on their wine list."

"Mmm. Impressive enough." Miranda gave a small nod, continuing, "In regards to your legal career, I assume you have been able to hold true to the standards you vilified me for not upholding six and-a-half years ago?"

Miranda, in perfect form, had put the embarrassing incident out there as a smooth, self-assured statement of fact.

Andy reached for her water goblet to calm herself before responding. She was thankful that a server stopped at their table just then to deliver their salads. Miranda pushed hers off to the side, while Andy composed an answer.

"While I would not trade my experiences at Runway for anything, Miranda, I have fine-tuned my ideals since then. This includes when and to what degree I shall defend them. The manner in which I left was regrettable. However, I stand by my decision and my actions." She stated with a firm resolve.

"Mmm."

Andy glanced up as Miranda opened her mouth to say something else, but when their eyes met, Miranda seemed to change her mind. She looked over Andy's shoulder, allowing her eyes to make a sweep around the restaurant.

Andy wasn't sure if the woman was looking for something or someone in particular or just avoiding her gaze. She had obviously lost some of her knack for reading the Editor-In-Chief. Andy finished her salad in silence. When the steaks arrived, Miranda watched Andy take a sip of her wine.

"It seems California was an enjoyable location. What brought you back to New York? Surely Elias-Clarke can't be all that much of a draw."

"I can't say that I was overly enamored at taking the position, especially when I found that the leadership hadn't changed."

Miranda's head snapped up and she shot Andy a cold glare that, Trump training or not, made Andy shiver. The older woman laid down her fork and moved to remove the napkin from her lap. Andy realized what was happening and grabbed a slender wrist, to keep the woman from leaving.

"Wait. I didn't mean you. Really. I meant Mr. Ravitz, Miranda." Andy was unable to control the quiver in her voice.

This time, when those impossibly clear blue eyes met hers, the anger was gone.

"You may let go, Andrea."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Andy released her grip. "Sorry. I hope I, um, didn't hurt you."

"Just because everyone refers to me as cold and icy, doesn't mean I will shatter at a simple touch."

"No, of course not."

"So, obviously Irv's charm didn't lull you to New York." Miranda picked her fork back up and resumed her work on the steak before her, as if the misunderstanding hadn't happened at all. When she referred to the CEO, it sounded as if saying his name pained her physically.

"I was tired of California. Los Angeles, in particular. Too, I don't know, soft. Too exhausting having to walk on eggshells around everyone's feelings. Here, in New York, you know where you stand. Words aren't minced. If someone is upset, they curse and move on. And seasons. I didn't realize how much I truly enjoyed having four distinct seasons."

Andy absent-mindedly watched Miranda as she rambled, and realized that the 'Snow Queen' really wasn't so scary anymore. She felt a measure of comfort in being able to feel at ease with this woman who had terrorized her world just a few years previously.

"Here. Try a sip of this with your next bite." Andy slid her wine glass over, within reach of Miranda.

"Excuse me?"

Andy smirked, "Just try it." Miranda gave her a long look, and then reached for the glass, turned it so that Andy's lipstick marks were away from her, swirled the liquid a little, tilted the glass towards her mouth, then place her nose in a short ways and sniffed. After a moment, Miranda took a thoughtful sip. Andy had no doubt, after seeing Miranda sniff the wine, that the woman was allowing the wine to roll slowly her tongue before swallowing. The younger woman restrained herself from rolling her eyes at the whole dramatic show.

"Pretty good, don't you think?"

"You have," Miranda paused, "exceeded all expectations, Andrea. I must say." She slid the glass back towards Andy. Without thinking, Andy reached out and grabbed the well-manicured hand before Miranda could fully retract it. Andy gave it a light squeeze before she let go.

When she had the courage to look up, she noticed that Miranda's neck was sporting a gentle blush.

The rest of the meal was completed in companionable silence. Miranda finished her steak ahead of Andrea, and plowed through her previously rejected salad while Andy picked at her meat. It was obvious that Andy wasn't going to finish the meal, so once they both appeared to be done, Miranda called for the bill, which she slid to Andy with a small, superior smile.

"Consider this your payback for leaving me in Paris without a word. And consider it a way of thanking me for your current success, which would not be possible if I hadn't upset your pretty little head that day."

Andy laughed, and for a brief moment, she caught Miranda smiling in response. A wonderful, full smile that caused the younger woman's heart to briefly clench.

"You got it."

As they rose to leave, Miranda rang Ted to bring the car around.

"There is room for you, if you would like a ride." Miranda stated as she climbed into the vehicle. With a shrug, Andy followed. Riding in the sedan with Miranda felt like déjà vu, but in a good way. And, Andy admitted to herself, this was far more appealing than a smelly, frightening, and expensive cab ride.

Later in the afternoon, while Andy was going through notes on the case she was working with Tom, Sam plodded into her office and set down a Starbucks cup. Actually, setting it down would have been preferable. As it was, his heavy-handed drop of the cup caused hot liquid to splash out and onto the blotter. Andy looked up at him in surprise, but he missed her gaze, already turning and leaving.

The scent of hot milk and espresso was heavenly. She grabbed a tissue to wipe up the sloshed bits, then took a large gulp, almost burning her tongue. Sure enough, the shorthand on the side of the cup indicated that it was extra hot. Impulsively, Andy picked up her phone and rang Miranda's office.

"Miranda Priestly's office."

"Hi, Charity. It's Andy. Thanks for the latte."

"It wasn't from me, actually."

Andy chuckled, "Okay. Well, then I extend my thanks to Miranda for the idea and you for the delivery. Have a good afternoon." She smiled as she hung up the phone and went back to work.

The next few weeks went by unremarkably. Andy assisted on a handful of cases and studied New York case law in the evenings. She frequently left the office late, sometimes pausing upstairs to see if Charity was still at her desk waiting for the 'Book'. If so, she would chat with the young woman, staying until Rob came up from the Elias-Clarke basement print shop with the mock-up. It was, Andy admitted, self-serving, as the useless chatter allowed her to unwind before she went home to her empty loft.

One evening in mid-July, Andy caught the elevator upstairs, trying to decide if she would continue to stay late and visit Charity now that she had taken the bar for New York and was done with the late night cram sessions.

When she hit the 9th floor and stepped off, she resolutely determined she really needed to get a life. She needed to face the fact that there was nothing she could use as an excuse anymore, and that she couldn't avoid the dating scene forever. Besides, she had no interest in Charity beyond the chatting to avoid an empty home – and the girl had not one, but two boyfriends that she deftly juggled between. Besides, working late in the office was, she admitted, just plain cowardly.

Charity was standing in the corridor nearest her desk, looking through a full clothes rack.

"Buenos noches, Andy."

"Buenos noches, Charity. Que tal?"

"Do I hear talking out there, Charity? Please tell me you've found the Benetton outfit."

Andy froze. The irritation in Miranda's soft voice as it floated out from her office was unmistakable to the trained ear. Charity shot Andy an apologetic look and then looked at the rack, wildly searching for the demanded garment. Andy followed the young girl's eyes and immediately saw the Benetton tag on one of the hangers. She snagged the hanger off the rack, handing it over to Charity.

As the young woman whisked around the corner to pass by her own desk en route to Miranda's den of pain, she paused for a brief moment to glance back and give a little wave.

Andy turned to go. She would send Charity an email later – let her know she had gotten word that she had passed the bar and wouldn't be staying late much anymore.

Just as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival, Andy heard the click-clack of heels. Only one person had that particular tempo to their gait. A tempo that six, or six and-a-half years couldn't erase. The younger woman turned slowly.

"Do you have a moment?"

Andy blinked in surprise. Miranda was asking her a question. Not commanding her. Times had changed.

"I gather that your immobility when faced with an open elevator door is a nonverbal affirmative response. It's either that or an indication of severe brain death, which I find unlikely. I don't believe Stanford gives its highest distinction to complete morons." Miranda smirked.

Andy knew she hadn't told Miranda about graduating Magna Cum Laude – which meant the formidable Editor had found out, and remembered, on her own.

"I don't know about that. Irv's wife graduated from Stanford."

Miranda was clearly surprised by Andy's retort and they stood for a moment facing one another in silence before a soft, small smile illuminated the older woman's features, her eyes twinkling in the dim light.

"I would concede that point, Counselor, for your implied message about her choice in spouse. However, I have met the woman, and she is quite intelligent. Irv is a shrewd businessman, so I believe she has made certain…concessions, in order to maintain the life she has otherwise built."

"I'll take that knowledge into consideration for whenever I do meet her. Even so, I would say that is a weak argument for what is basically a marriage of convenience and…" Andy trailed off.

"Most intelligent women, as you may or may not have figured out for yourself, Andrea, have let opportunities for love slip through their fingers in exchange for something less elusive, less ephemeral. Instead," she sighed, as their footsteps echoed on the marble floor, "we choose predictable, career-oriented, self-serving men, because they are easy to understand and what is expected of us. Much less work – and much less rewarding." She coughed, and both were silent. Neither knew what to say next.

They had been crossing towards the pale glow emanating from Miranda's office space. As they entered the inner sanctum, her eyes accommodated to capture Miranda's weariness, and appreciate her beauty.

Andy marveled at the maroon skirt and honeyed caramel blouse the Editor wore. The colors complemented Miranda's pale skin tones, without being too bold.

"That," Andy stated, "is a wonderful palette for you." She waved her hand for emphasis as Miranda turned to sit at her desk. The silvery-grey haired woman immediately blushed a dark crimson that ran from the neckline of the scoop-necked blouse up her long neck, wrapped around her ears, and descended along her cheekbones. Andy found it enchanting.

"I thought your department vacated the building by three."

Andy broke from her reverie over Miranda's appearance and plopped down in one of the seldom-used straight-backed chairs upholstered in a gold patterned print. It was uncomfortable, but functional.

"Had to take the bar to practice in New York, so I've been pulling a lot of late nights. Thankfully, I heard today that I passed."

"And yet you're still here well into the evening."

"Astute observation. Last late night I plan on pulling for as along as possible."

Feeling emboldened, she continued, "You're here, and so is Charity, but why is no one else from _Runway_? If there are things needing correction, why don't you have staff staying on to take care of it?"

Miranda's sharp look was a reminder to Andy that she was unaccustomed to being interrogated. However, she relented.

"I'm taking a vacation with the girls and wanted to ensure I have everything in order first. God knows what kind of chaos I might return to otherwise."

"I'm sure Nigel will make sure that all goes well, Miranda. But, I'm glad to hear that you are taking some time off. You deserve it."

"Don't ply me with insincerity, Andrea. It's rather unbecoming." Miranda slid her reading glasses into place as she scribbled on a sticky-note and carefully placed it over a picture in the 'Book' that was open before her on the desk.

"No, I mean it. _Runway_ is the most successful of the Elias-Clarke magazines, despite the well-known budget battles between you and Irv. Actually, your success is probably WHY he fights with you. If you get away with too much, all the other editors will try to do the same thing. Only they don't have the audience that you've built up over the years."

Miranda snorted, "True. Still, have you ever taken a trip to Miami in the summer with teenage girls? If I deserve THAT as a 'break', then well…I suppose I am as bad as I'm made out to be." There was a resignation in her tone and reflected in her sad eyes when she looked up, vision unfocused in Andy's direction.

"Playing the pity card now?" Andy gently teased, her heart warmed by the information Miranda was sharing with her this evening.

There was the sound of a stapler crunching from Charity's desk, and the lawyer was reminded of the time and place.

She rose, "I'm going to let you go, Miranda, so you can finish up and enjoy the terrors of your vacation. At least there aren't scheduled to be any hurricanes in Miami this trip." She slid her purse onto her shoulder.

"Yes. Well," was the only verbal response, but again Andy caught the pained look on Miranda's face.

"I may end up praying for a hurricane, or any other reason to come back early."

Andy chuckled and tilted her head, "Oh, if you want to come back early, you'll want to pray for something else entirely. If you recall, hurricanes have a way of preventing travel." She was rewarded by a small nod.

"Goodnight, Miranda. Safe travels."

"Goodnight, Andrea." The young lawyer's breath caught in her throat. Miranda's soft voice and the way she said her name caressed her ears and went straight to her knees, causing them to almost buckle. Quickly, she recovered and made her way out of the office.

"Hasta luego."

"Hasta luego, Andy." Charity replied, without looking away from her computer screen.

The walk home, Andy thought about how her body had reacted to Miranda- buckling knees, no less! She was going insane. That was really the only explanation for it. Of all the people in the world, being attracted to Miranda Priestly was perhaps the most extreme example of unrequited love possible.

That night, she dreamed of Sherry turning into Miranda again. And this time,Miranda would look at her longingly, then, when Andy swooned under her gaze, Miranda slid one arm around her waist to support the younger woman, while with the other, she ran a hand up and down the back of her thigh. Andy could feel her skirt sliding up around her hips as Miranda's fingers climbed higher with each up-sweep, fingertips coming achingly close to the underside of her buttocks. Andy awoke Friday morning with the blanket on the floor and her sheet tangled around her hips.

When she got into the office, she was thankful it was Friday – the restless night wasn't completely cured by even a triple shot non-fat latte. That evening, the department was informally going out for dinner and drinks to celebrate her passing the NY bar – not because they were all that happy for her, but because it meant the other three lawyers could now pass along some of their less desirable cases to her.

Andy was now aware that her previous employment with _Runway_ had made her the likely target for all of the squabbles between the various _Runway_ offices; the fact that_ Italian_, _French_, and _British Runway_ staff were picking fights with _España_ and _Asian Runway _had been the subject of an increased number of memos between Irv and Mike. Andy had no doubt that Mike was very much looking forward to passing that headache on to her.

As she disembarked the elevator on the 3rd floor and dug in her purse for the keys to her office, Andy noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that Sam was looking more peeved than usual from his sentry position.

"Sam. I've had it with your attitude. Every time I see you, the chip on your shoulder blinds me. I'm gonna start calling you 'Chip.' What is your problem?"

"Do you know how many times I've taken the bar exam? Do you have any idea how many years I spent working my way through night courses at a no-name law school? You waltz in here from California with your Stanford degree and your Trump confidence. On top of that, you have the Ice Queen, of all people, wanting to have lunch with you and leaving gifts? And you wonder why I'm not ecstatic. Get over yourself, Sunshine." He ran a hand through his unruly golden locks, and tugged an ear.

Andy dropped her newly found keys back into her open Ferragamo shoulder bag.

"Screw you, Chip. Next time you call Miranda Priestly the 'Snow Queen' you better hope I don't hear." She fished the keys out again and walked past him, saying a quiet prayer of thanks for being back in New York.

"And," she shot over her shoulder, "next time you want to take the bar, let me know in advance. I'll help you study."

"Why would you do that?"

"Sooner you pass the bar, Chip, sooner you lose the nickname."

"Fat chance, Sunshine." Andy turned and they both smiled, briefly, at one another. Yep, it was definitely good to be back in New York. As she unlocked the door and moved to enter her office, Andy tripped over a box. She hadn't seen it, as her purse had dangled directly over it.

"Smooth move," she heard Sam state, flatly.

Andy dropped her purse on her chair and reached to lift the rather small package. Her name was scrawled, rather poorly, on the small grey envelope that slid off as she perched the box on her desk.

She carefully opened the envelope, which had, in the lower corner, the name of a well-known, expensive Italian stationer, Pineider. The classically illegible handwriting was indisputably Miranda Priestly's. Andy remembered Sam's comment about gifts from the 'Snow Queen' and she glanced up towards the doorway as she slid out the single sheet of white paper, edged in silver.

As she attempted to read the short note, Andy was silently thankful it wasn't a legal document. There was no way on Earth anyone could defend any particular interpretation of the scribbles therein. After a few moments of intense staring, she made out the brief message: _'Congratulations, Andrea. Your successes are well deserved.'_ Below that, was a single, bold _'M'_ – not even a full signature. Andy smiled.

The box was a burnt orange, its lid held in place by a wide, grey ribbon. With barely contained excitement, Andy undid the ribbon and flicked off the lid. Peeling back the folds of tissue paper, she found two individual items inside. The top box was small and flat, with the classic Hermes logo. There was a sticky note atop stating –_ 'Should go nicely with your Giles outfit.'_ Andy tried to think when she had worn the pale pink slacks and coordinating pink and brown blouse. Ah, yes. Her first full day – the day she had delivered the Starbucks to Miranda's office. Well, she had worn it a time or two since then in the past few months, but couldn't recall having encountered Miranda then. Which meant that Miranda likely HAD seen her delivering the coffee. And remembered the outfit.

Removing the lid, she found a lovely pink scarf, the edge stitching in a milk chocolate brown. Andy couldn't help but chuckle. Miranda loved Hermes, so it seemed only fitting.

The other item tucked into the larger box was quite obviously a wrapped book. Andy tore open the wrapping to discover a guide to French wines. The binding had already been cracked, so Andy peeked inside the front cover. Sure enough, there was scrawled in careful penmanship:

'_Wine comes in at the mouth  
And love comes in at the eye;  
That's all we shall know for truth  
Before we grow old and die.  
I lift the glass to my mouth,  
I look at you, and I sigh.'_

_-William B Yeats-_

Andy was struck by the personal gesture of both the scarf and the book. And the Yeats poem made her smile as she ran a finger over the words. Suddenly, she was quite awake in a way that the latte hadn't been able to accomplish. The rest of the day, she was on cloud nine…and-a-half.


	3. The Revolution Starts Now

Chapter 3: "The Revolution Starts Now" by Steve Earle

* * *

The following Wednesday, however, Andy was less than amused. She received a call at five in the morning to come directly into the office. It turned out that Irv Ravitz had been arrested during the night, charged with murder and attempted murder. His presumed mistress was dead and his wife was in critical condition.

By the time Andy arrived to the otherwise silent Elias-Clarke building, the second and third floors were lit up and in full swing. Sam had made multiple runs to the Starbucks across the street for individual orders. For once, Andy thought Sam didn't look put out by such menial work.

Mike had a quick meeting with his team to let them know that Jon Hart, the Executive V.P., was planning to meet with appropriate legal counsel and the Board before meeting with the rest of the Elias-Clarke executive staff (to include Mike) at 10am to discuss next steps. In the mean time, Mike requested the other three attorneys contact appropriate representatives at the publisher's foreign offices to communicate the current situation.

This took all of half-an-hour between Andy, Tom, and Rob. Which meant that by 8am they were fully caffeinated and twiddling their thumbs. Andy, for the first time in several months, felt like she was back working at Trump Enterprises where expansive, volatile, and frequent changes were not uncommon.

At eight-thirty, Mike sat down with Communications and Human Relations and they crafted a memo that went out to all of the publication's staff, letting them know that Mr. Ravitz was in 'consultation' with the authorities after 'an incident' during the night. And, that while there would likely be some sensationalism by the media, employees had signed confidentiality agreements with Elias-Clarke as a condition of employment. Further information would be communicated, once it became available, but in the interim, those staff members approached by the media should make no comment and refer reporters to their site-specific Public Relations personnel.

By nine-thirty, the building was literally humming with quiet chatter and the first network news vans had pulled up outside.

At ten, Mike went with several other execs up to the top floor to meet with Mr. Hart, a few of the Board members, and several attorneys. Andy continued to set up a template for storing all their case files electronically. She was hoping to get Mike to buy into the idea of getting their department appropriately updated into the electronic age.

The third floor was silent until sometime after eleven, when Sam popped his head into Andy's office.

"Yo, Sunshine. Your cheery countenance is requested in the conference room for a shoot-out at high noon." He drew a hand up in the air, like a gun. Andy rolled her eyes, to which he responded by pretending to shoot her, blew on his finger, than 'holstered' his hand.

"Chip, you are so whack." She tried, ineffectively, to withhold her laughter.

"I've had 5 cups of coffee already. What do you expect?" He grinned, walking off in the direction of Tom's office while whistling the classic western theme song from 'The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.'

Andy groaned and put her head in her hands.

The phone rang, breaking her from her reverie.

"Andy Sachs." It was an internal line, so she didn't waste her breath on a longer greeting.

"Andy. You went to Stanford, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks." The line went dead. Andy stared at the receiver, wondering why Mike had called just for that.

At noon, she, Tom, Rob, and Sam, met with Mike and his assistant, Jennifer, in the conference room.

"Okay, guys. Short story on this is Irv will be arraigned later today, but regardless of outcome, he's no longer part of Elias-Clarke. Mr. Hart, as Executive V.P., will be acting President. He has indicated, however, that he has no interest in taking on the role more permanently. As you may know, Irv's wife survived the attack and has been in surgery most of the morning. She is expected to make a full, if lengthy, recovery – and as she is the owner of Elias-Clarke Publishing and Chairman of the Board, her lawyers indicate she will weigh in on decisions, as appropriate, as soon as she is able.

"It seems the events of last night may have been precipitated when, two days previously, Cecilia confronted Irv and his mistress, threatening to both divorce him and have him removed as CEO. Yesterday afternoon, Cecilia sent her lawyers and fellow Board members several documents, indicating her desire to make certain changes in the structure of Elias-Clarke – some of them radical. Some of these recommended changes were supported by detailed rationale – other changes were not.

"I don't know the details about last night's confrontation, only that Irv's mistress, a psychologist, was murdered, at Irv and Cecilia's Park Avenue home. Cecilia was, as you are aware, savagely wounded. Irv sustained, from what we've been told, minor injuries. So, we are left with Irv, being held by the police, Cecilia in surgery, and a plethora of documents directing sweeping changes in the corporate structure. Once Cecilia is stable, her lawyers will verify if she wishes to make any changes or amendments to the documents she had sent the Board, considering the latest events.

"It seems that there will be more than just Irv's…departure that will keep our department busy. We'll have to work closely with Leslie and the Public Relations team to keep the Elias-Clarke image untainted during this period of transition. I will need you all prepared to put in some serious time over the next several weeks. There's going to be a lot of shake-ups throughout the organization, so we'll need to be flexible."

"Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy ride," Tom replied. For a moment, they all turned their glassy eyes to him.

"Indeed." Mike nodded as Jennifer handed each of them a piece of paper.

"Each of you has a list of publications you will be working with during the restructuring. While some lists are shorter than others, no one will have it easy. Please get in touch with the Editor-in-Chief of each publication you will be liaison for and let them know the Board is likely going to want to meet with them on Monday – and for the foreign publications, this means they should plan their flights to be able to meet with the Board on Tuesday. Do not discuss what I've told you about Cecilia's threats to Irv or the documents she may, or may not, have sent her lawyers and the Board. Simply let them know that as a result of last night's occurrences, the Board is planning to meet with most Editors one-on-one, and some en masse as well."

Here, Mike glanced over at Andy, whose list simply read "_Runway_ (U.S. and all foreign)."

After that, the small team collaborated on particular words they would use and avoid to ensure that their message would be consistent. As Andy reminded them, many of the Editors were likely to talk to one another. When they did, it would behoove them to have presented the same party line to each, thus avoiding petty fights breaking out over who had gotten better information, etc.

When they left the conference room, each of the attorneys handed a wad of cash to Sam and he ordered up a large buffet spread of food for the whole of the 3rd floor corporate staff. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Andy sat down in her office and started calling the international _Runway_ Editors – there were 10 altogether. She deftly handled the prima donna personalities amongst them. At the same time, she was thankful for the fact that the Russian and Australian Editors, who were traveling from so far away, comparatively, put up the least fuss.

At 3pm, after downing more caffeine, Andy rode the elevator up to the ninth floor to see Charity in person about how best to contact Miranda, a veritable Queen compared to the other_ Runway_ editors. As Andy approached the outer office, she felt several pairs of eyes on her, and could detect a gentle, wafting scent of tequila.

"Charity." The young lawyer had none of her carefree spirit left in her to banter with the young woman.

"Andy." The solemn look on the assistant's face didn't match the gleam in her eyes, nor the way her blonde locks looked a bit tousled.

"I'll need to talk to Miranda. Directly."

"Okay. She doesn't respond, as you know, to unknown numbers. Should I have her ring your office or your cell?"

"Office."

Andy lifted her chin and tilted her head, "Do I hear music?"

Charity shrugged and quirked her lips, "Possiblemente."

Andy groaned.

"Well, let's just say that a certain evil dwarf hasn't ever been a fan favorite on the 9th floor." Charity's voice rose a tad, defensively.

"Keep it contained, please? We don't need anybody leaving the building inebriated or otherwise too cheerful. The last thing Elias-Clarke needs is the image of employees partying over…current events." Andy's intense brown eyes focused on the younger woman's blue-green ones. She was acutely aware, in that moment, of how much she sounded like a true killjoy.

"Got it."

"Thanks, Charity." Andy returned to the elevators, hearing the unmistakably happy chatter of the magazine's writing staff over the sound of CNN reporting on the arrest. She rest her forehead against the elevator doors once they were closed. Who knew that Runway was going to be so blatantly celebratory? Not that she could blame them.

Andy stood in the doorway to her office, waiting for Miranda's callback while chatting with the hovering members from Communications, Human Relations, Marketing, and Finance. It turns out that Legal had the best layout of all the corporate departments housing the second and third floors, and the other departments were thrilled by the generous sharing of food. More importantly, there was the less than secret knowledge that Legal kept a substantial stash of well-aged whisky under Sam's watchful lock-and-key, which made him quite popular as the afternoon wore on. By a quarter to 5pm, Mike gave him a nod and Sam began to mete out the nerve tonic.

Andy was unfazed, however, by all the high drama and she calmly watched on. From the sound of things, the employees who worked directly under Irv went home early, in shock, and the boys up in Auto World had all gone down to the courthouse to support Irv during his arraignment.

Andy reapplied her makeup, stretched languidly, then sat down and worked through a Caesar salad when she realized that she hadn't eaten lunch between all the _Runway_ editor calls.

Mike came into her office and plopped down on the corner of her desk, as she had a stack of files for the modernization project in the only other chair.

"So, Andy, you haven't spoken to Miranda Priestly as yet."

"Um, nope. She's on vacation in Miami and is supposed to call me any time now."

"Well, when she does, the Board wants to talk to her before Monday. Conference call, Friday, between 1 and 2pm. They've been trying to reach her, unsuccessfully, to coordinate."

"They want to talk to her while she's on vacation?" Andy raised an eyebrow, knowing that telling Miranda Priestly to interrupt time with her daughters wasn't wise, terrible teens and hurricane jokes aside.

"Yeah. And if she has a problem with that, she needs to let Debbie Kim, the Board's executive assistant, know."

Andy sighed. Great. She nodded understanding.

Mike rose up off her desk and slowly ambled back out of the room. His graying hair was thinning in the back, and the day seemed to have beat him into a slump. Andy leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. This was going to be a less than delightful phone call.

A short time later, as she crunched on a crouton, the phone rang. Andy picked up the line, choking as she tried to swallow the large piece of dried bread.

"Dear God, please tell me that I don't have to call someone to perform the Heimlich on you."

Andy laughed through the tears of pain involuntarily streaming down her face.

"No, Miranda," she replied hoarsely. Covering the mouthpiece, she finished clearing her throat, then returned to the conversation.

"You know that the news today has made suffering with a half-dozen teenagers almost bearable. They seem determined to sprawl out in the sun to become lobsters, against my dire warnings of skin cancer. And, I have found fake identification on them at least three times in two days. Please tell me I've been torn away from such excitement to hear something besides the news about Irv. It is, you are aware, on every news channel in the country."

Again, the young lawyer chuckled.

"Well, I can appreciate that this call is interrupting what is likely a celebration of both his predicament as well as the joys of teenagers. Two quick items and then I'll let you go. First, I know that _Runway_ has felt harsh criticism, primarily over financial decisions, from Mr. Ravitz in the past. So, I understand that _Runway_ staff, in particular, may feel like celebrating today. But, um…"

"I spoke with Nigel earlier today and he already read me the memo that was sent to Elias-Clarke employees, Andrea. My people are aware that a certain amount of decorum, outside of the 9th floor, is required of them."

Andy sighed, "I'm just a little worried, I guess."

"About what?" Miranda sounded impatient.

"I'm not sure that when they are done with their margarita-making merriment, they will have the ability to appropriately avoid the Fox News crews outside."

"I think the Board may actually find something like that to be rather amusing."

Andy bit her lip. Miranda gave a theatrical sigh of resignation.

"I will ensure your concerns aren't validated. What was the second item you alluded to?"

"Well, um, the other reason I'm calling is to let you know about the plans going forward. Jon Hart will be taking on the duties of President, although in a temporary capacity, until the Board can find a permanent replacement for Irv. The Board wishes to meet with editors Monday and Tuesday to discuss some potential changes. But, before they meet with you on Monday, they wish to have a special conference call on Friday – between 1 and 2pm." Andy awaited the inevitably chilly response.

"They do realize I am on vacation? With my family? Out of state?"

"Yes, I believe they do. Mike indicated that they may have already tried to reach you directly."

"I'll deal with them. I have Debbie's number on speed-dial. She may have rung earlier…" this was followed by a defeated sigh.

"I'll call her. Leave it to Irv to thrill and annoy at the same time."

"Well, you were looking for an escape from teenage drama." Andy smiled, leaning back in her seat.

"True enough. I only need to survive them until Friday. Their father will have them for the weekend." There was a moment wherein they both were silent.

"Is that all, Andrea?"

Andy looked down at her desk and saw the note Miranda had written, or more accurately, scribbled, tucked under the glass top.

"Actually, while you're on the line, I wanted to thank you," Andy attempted to stifle a yawn, "for the gifts you left."

"You're yawning."

"I'm sorry. Long day. It's not you."

"Undoubtedly your department is being kept busy, now that our little Napoleon has been such a disgrace." There was obvious pleasure in her voice.

"I think we're all going to be a bit busy for awhile, from the sound of things." Andy tossed the remains of her salad in the garbage and contemplated when her last dose of caffeine might have been.

"Perhaps. The news reports here indicate that Cecilia is alive. I don't want to bother Jeffrey, her son, to ask after her. I don't suppose you have any information?"

"As far as I know, she stable, but remains critical. Sounds like a real miracle – her throat was rather butchered, but she still managed to connect with 9-1-1."

"Perhaps he attempted to behead her. Silly man should have read up on Saint Cecilia. Of course, you Stanford women are a strong breed."

There was a muffled sound in the background on Miranda's end of the line, "Just a moment, Andrea." This was followed by a not-so-muffled request from Miranda telling someone to 'be sure that ALL the alcohol has been removed from the cottage.' Then there was another, smaller sigh.

Andy ran her fingers through her hair, "Despite the news about Irv, it sounds like you are keeping busy. I hope that you've had a chance to relax."

"I will be relaxing this weekend. James will pick the girls up at the airport and whisk them away, leaving me to enjoy the peace and quiet of a townhouse sans angst and melodrama."

"Good for you." Andy stifled yet another yawn, wiping the sleepy tears from her eyes.

"I suppose…"

"And they have several friends with them, it sounds like."

"Yes. God forbid the girls would actually wish to spend this week-long summer vacation with me. They and four of their current BFFs are staying in one of the cottages, crisping their skin, playing loud music, and partying at all hours. I'm allowed to have dinner with them in the evenings, likely because I'm paying. I'm quite sure that any red hair I still had has finally given up the fight this year. Which means…"

"Yes?"

"Well, it means I won't have to endure any further chemical colorants to get it all the same shade. I, I just don't understand teenagers. I was never this insane at the same age."

Andy had wondered about Miranda's original hair color, and smiled quietly at the thought of Miranda with red hair. It definitely explained her fiery personality.

"They will come around. Although not likely until they have graduated college. Just a few more years." Andy stated, then stifled another yawn.

"A few more very long years."

"Time flies. Caroline and Cassidy were only ten when I last saw them."

"Time does not fly, Andrea. Those have been six long years."

"Mm." Andy fought yet another yawn.

"I can tell I'm boring you." There was obvious disappointment in the woman's voice.

"No, no," Andy responded, but Miranda had already cut the line. Andy dropped the phone into its receiver and dug both hands into her hair near the temples, tugging it in frustration. After a moment, she sighed and got up to find Mike to let him know she had passed along the Board's request to Miranda.

At six-thirty, despite two more espresso-laden beverages, Andy was having a difficult time staying awake. The department was finally released with a request to keep their cell phones at the ready. Today was just the beginning of a period of increased chaos.

Andy plastered on a cheery face as she pressed through the throng of reporters towards home. Once there, she promptly fell on top of the bed and dozed off, fully clothed and makeup still intact.

Minutes later, or so it seemed, her cell phone rang - the theme song from the Indiana Jones movies. This meant someone in her department was calling. It took some groggy fumbling around before she found the device in her purse, on the floor, by the foot of the bed.

"Hello," she mumbled, rubbing her face.

"Sunshine. You won the lottery. Meet Mr. Birch outside Intensive Care at New York-Presbyterian Hospital at 9am tomorrow. You'll be meeting with Cecilia Clarke-Ravitz and her attorneys." The line cut out just as Andy realized it was Chip/Sam. She stared at the phone, and wondered if she had been dreaming. Surely, it wasn't real. She collapsed back on the bed and winced when an earring dug into her cheek. Slowly, she sat back up and thought about getting into pajamas.

With a sigh, Andy stood up and stretched. She looked at the clock by her bed. Then looked again. It was just after eleven. Definitely pajamas. She made her way to the bathroom, washed off her makeup, removed her jewelry, brushed her teeth and set her alarm for early the next morning before crawling under the covers and falling into another deep sleep.

At eleven the next morning, Andy and Mike walked out of the hospital and slid into the corporate town car waiting for them.

Mike sighed. Andy sighed.

"Um, where to?" Both looked up, surprised, at the driver, then at each other.

"Feel like an early lunch?"

"Nah."

Mike answered the driver, "Elias-Clarke."

"So, you okay with going down to see her today?"

"Yeah."

Mike slid his cell phone out of his pocket, "We'll need one of the planes out at Teterboro to take Andy Sachs down to Miami this afternoon, with a return tomorrow. She and I should be at the office shortly. I'll need to meet with Sally as soon as I walk in the door."

"No, the Sally from HR. I can't say her last name, so I'm not even going to try."

"Right. Right. Good. Thank you." He shut his phone and turned towards Andy.

"We're going to need Miranda to agree to everything, and her signature on all those documents," he pointed towards the leather satchel in Andy's lap, "for the Board by Friday evening."

"Yep. Tomorrow."

Mike furrowed his shaggy grey brows, "Is tomorrow Friday? Of course it is."

As they pulled up in front of the building and climbed out, Mike spoke again, "You know, she may want to lay low until Wednesday. There's sure to be some fireworks Monday among some of the staff here in New York, and again on Tuesday when the foreign Editors…"

"I'll advise her to work from home or otherwise stay out of the office. But, Mr. Birch, you and I both know that no one tells Miranda Priestly what to do."

He caught her wry smile and chuckled as they boarded an elevator.

"Quite true, indeed. If you can get her to agree to Cecilia's wishes between now and tomorrow afternoon, that's the best we can hope for, at least as far as this week's dramas go. Which reminds me –"

Mike pulled his phone back out as the elevator made the short trip up to the 3rd floor. He waved for Andy to disembark ahead of him.

As she did, acutely aware that her Donna Karan blouse had absorbed hospital smells during the morning, Andy overheard Mike's conversation.

"Leslie. Great. Can you meet with me in about 2 hours? I just left Cecilia Clarke-Ravitz and her lawyers."

"Yeah. Yeah. Sure. 2pm works. I may have Sally sit in at the beginning. I'm meeting with her in few minutes."

"Great. Okay." Mike followed Andy into the legal suite.

"Andy."

"Heya, Jennifer." Mike's petite assistant handed Andy a piece of paper and an envelope.

"Here's your flight information. When you get back, just slip any receipts in the envelope for me, and we'll get you reimbursed within a couple of days. I forwarded the weather forecast for Miami to your email, and since Irv isn't using his car and driver for a bit…John will be picking you up from your place at thirteen hundred hours to get you to the airstrip."

Andy's grin was huge, "Great. Thank you, Jennifer." She felt like royalty, or like Miranda must feel like every day. She glanced at her watch. Just enough time to drop a few things in her office, get home and pack.

She opened her office door and dropped the satchel and her purse on the chair, atop the stack of files, while she grabbed the extra laptop battery from behind her desk.

As Andy shut the door to her office, silently cursing as her long hair got in the way of locking up, Sam's voice taunted her.

"Sunshine. So, you're going to Miami. Better than Tom. He's going up to Martha's Vineyard bright and early tomorrow morning. And he HATES that whole scene."

"Really?" Andy threw her hair over her shoulder, tucking the battery and the keys into her purse.

"Yep. So, you better enjoy a Mojito, or three, for the rest of us."

"Why does he have to go up there?" Andy frowned.

"Editor for _Cottage Gardens_ is there. Elias-Clarke's longest-running magazine. Not. .."

Andy bit her lip and raised her shoulders in a gesture of defeat, "The fun begins."

"So, you're not gonna spill who, or what, else is getting 'reorganized' out of the building?"

Andy smirked, "Fat chance." He raked a disapproving glare over her, shook his head, and picked up a ringing line.

As Andy walked out of the building, she reminded herself that she needed to work harder at appearing understanding during the next couple of weeks. Perhaps she had become a little too hardened and impervious.


	4. This Kiss

Chapter 4: "This Kiss" by Faith Hill

* * *

The flight south took a few hours. She caught a cab directly to the resort hotel that Charity had indicated the Priestly party were staying at. Of course, it was opulent. And, of course, even the least expensive room they had, even for one night, was outrageously priced. Andy sighed and accepted the accommodations, thankful that her current salary was so much sweeter than the last time she had stayed in the same hotel as _Runway_'s Editor-in-Chief. She quickly deposited her bag in the room and made her way up one floor to where Miranda was.

Miranda opened the door to her suite and eyed Andrea with a less than approving conclusion, judging from the lack of a nod, smile, or comment. Andy had at least managed to change from the clothes she had worn to the hospital before she had boarded the flight, and felt that the grey-and-turquoise Vera Wang dress suit wasn't all that bad. Obviously, Miranda thought differently.

Andy noted that Miranda was casually elegant, as usual, in a pair of loose-fitting black linen slacks and a golden tunic blouse.

She followed the older woman, wordlessly, into the suite, noting that Miranda was padding around barefoot on the plush white carpets. As they settled into the sitting area, Andrea noted how wonderful the view was. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows as Miranda reclined into a stark white leather sofa.

Miranda's suite faced southeast and overlooked the ocean. In the foreground was a large, decadent pool with a couple of cottages that sat between the pool and the sandy beach beyond. The sky was still quite bright, as it was just approaching 7pm, in the summer.

"You have things to discuss and documents I need to sign."

Andy turned to find Miranda slipping on her reading glasses.

"Um, yeah." She turned her attention back inside and sat down on the other end of the leather sofa, dropping her purse to the floor. Sliding open the satchel, she dug out a small stack of papers, many of them tagged with little sticky-note reminders of where signature was required.

"This morning, Mike Birch and I met with Cecilia and her lawyers."

"How is she doing?" There was a small element of concern in Miranda's voice, and she tucked her feet up underneath her as she repositioned herself to face Andy.

"Pretty good. You know, considering." Andy shrugged. "She had to write everything, and her son, Jeff, was helping her finally learn how to send text messages. She's not going to be able to talk for a little while. But, she has a lot of changes she wants made, to include some regarding the various _Runway_ magazines."

Andy had been staring at the documents, but now stole a quick glance over to Miranda.

"And?" Miranda had one arm resting on the back of the sofa, the other lifting from her lap to gesture towards Andy to continue.

"And she felt you would be amenable to the changes, and if you signed off agreement with her plans, then the Board would be more likely to follow suit."

"Hmm." Miranda stared, absently, at Andy's lap and the sheath of papers there. "Well, what does she wish me to agree to?"

"She wants to remove Jacqueline Follet from _French Runway_, along with several of the employees. Indicated that the magazine has become a little too 'dark and sadistic'. Then, since Alessia Piovan, the _Italian Runway _Editor, has French roots, that it would be best to move Alessia to temporarily manage _French Runway_, until they can hire someone permanently. Which means she needs someone to take manage_ Italian Runway_ during that time. Cecilia thought maybe Nigel, but defers to you and Alessia for suggestions. She also thought you might have ideas for replacing the Assistant Editor at _British Runway_, with a goal of eventually replacing the Editor-in-Chief, whom has become, as Cecilia put it, "milquetoast." She has some concerns about a few of the other sites, but wishes to make further changes more incrementally. She concluded by writing, and I quote, '_Runway _is what makes Elias-Clarke run on a daily basis. We need to clear away some muck, but maintain the fine bone structure.'" Andy read from her notes.

Miranda gave a small nod as she studied the scenery out the window, over Andy's shoulder. After a long stretch of silence, Andy reached out and gently tapped a knee, reveling in the rough feel of the linen against her fingertips.

The older woman shot her a surprised look. Deep blue-grey eyes searched Andy's espresso irises and suddenly the Yeats poem, the multiple moment in which Miranda had let her guard down and opened up to Andy during the past few months – it all fell together. She hadn't realized all the pieces were supposed to mean anything more than how they appeared on the surface. She had written off deeper meaning as wishful thinking. But, here she was, looking into Miranda's eyes and seeing…desire. It was a humbling, and exciting, realization.

Andy swallowed down a lump in her throat. Miranda's eyes moved down to Andy's throat, and Andy felt her skin growing warm.

Miranda ran a hand through her hair, and cleared her throat, shifting her weight.

"So, what am I being asked to sign?" She paused, and Andy felt her eyes misting over, not caring that Miranda saw this.

"Andrea?" A finger very softly swept a tear from the corner of Andy's left eye.

"Um." Andy blinked.

"What am I being asked to sign?"

"Oh. Well, Cecilia doesn't want to waste time with making these changes, and felt that if you sign off on her recommendations – indicating your support, then the Board will move quickly. She's hoping not to have all this drag out."

"I'll look them over tonight." Miranda held a hand out, palm up. Andy stared at it.

"Andrea. The papers?" Miranda sounded somewhat irritated, but her eyes were sparkling. Andy handed over the stack.

With that, Miranda stood up and left the room. When she returned, she walked right up to where Andy sat, and put her upturned newly emptied hand in front of the young woman, again.

"Andrea. Take my hand."

Andy put her hand in Miranda's, feeling the warmth and the soft skin beneath her own. Miranda clasped her hand firmly and pulled her up.

"We don't get views like this in New York." The older woman gestured towards the window, and Andy turned to see pinks and oranges swirling across the sky.

"Would you like an aperitif? I believe business has been taken care of, for the time being." Andy caught the smirk and relaxed a little.

"Sure."

"It isn't French, but there is a lovely White Merlot here." There was a teasing tone and a soft lilt to Miranda's voice.

Andy faked a gasp and grinned, fully enjoying the lighter tone their conversation now took.

"Not French?"

"No, but thankfully it is Italian. The American White Merlots are largely hideous." Miranda held up a bottle of what looked very much like a Pinot Grigio. She deftly uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount into one of the glasses at the wet bar, swirled, and took a taste, then offered it to Andy.

"Decent enough."

Andy raised an eyebrow, replying after she took a sip, "Oh. I like that."

Miranda poured two small glasses and slid one towards the younger woman, who watched on as Miranda took a couple of apples out of the small stainless steel refrigerator, found a small knife in a basket sitting atop the wet bar counter, and began carving up the fruit.

"Patio." Miranda gestured to the recessed door handle along one of the window frames. Andy fumbled with the latch and finally realized the window didn't slide open, it pivoted open. She detected Miranda's perfume behind her as she walked out along the long, wide patio to a couple of chairs, setting her wine glass down on the small table between them.

Miranda placed the white china plate with apple slices down between their wine glasses, then retreated back into the suite again. When she reappeared, she had her sunglasses in place, causing Andy to smile, as the patio was well-shaded from the west-setting sun.

They reclined back in their comfortable chairs, enjoying the dimming light of the sunset, crunching apple slices, and sipping their white wine aperitifs. Andy relaxed her shoulders, feeling the tension from the hospital visit and the plane ride slowly working out of her.

Unfortunately, after only a couple of minutes, there was a loud banging of the front door, followed by loud voices.

"That will be the hurricane we talked about last week."

Andy laughed at Miranda's dry joke.

"Mom! Hey, we're getting hungry. Dinner's at seven-thirty, right?" A strawberry-blonde head poked out onto the patio.

Miranda slowly removed her sunglasses and angled her view towards her daughter.

"Hello, Caroline. So nice to see you."

"Yeah. Hi, Mom."

"I don't know if you remember her, but this is Andrea, she used to be-"

Bright blue eyes suddenly widened, "Oh, shit. Were you the one we dropped water balloons on or the one we sent up to Mom and Stephen's fight?"

"The latter." Andy replied, suddenly thankful she hadn't been the water balloon victim.

"Caroline. Please do not swear. Andrea is now an attorney with Elias-Clarke."

"As in the corporation, or the _Runway_ part?"

"The corporation."

"Wow. That's cool. So, Mom. Dinner? It's already after 7, and there's gonna be traffic."

"We'll meet you downstairs in five minutes." Miranda shooed her daughter off.

"Fine. Hey. Are you drinking? I thought you said the doctor –"

"It's just an aperitif, Caroline. I'll be fine." Miranda stood and pointed firmly into the suite. "Go."

"Just don't be too long." The young woman disappeared.

Andy stood, taking her wine glass and the nearly empty plate with her towards the patio door.

"Not you." Miranda's voice was firm.

"Okaaay." Andy stood there, trying to figure out what she should be doing. Miranda gave a sigh of resignation and took the plate and glass from the younger woman.

Andy waited there, unsure of what was going on.

Miranda quickly returned and removed her sunglasses, looking Andrea in the eye.

"You'll be joining us for dinner, I hope."

"Um, sure. If you like."

Miranda stepped in closer to Andy, raised her free hand to Andy's cheek, slowly guiding the younger woman's head towards her own, before gently brushing her small, pert lips against Andy's.

Just as quickly as it had started, it was over, and Miranda pulled away, leaving a ghosting sensation on Andy's lips.

"Um, I guess that means you like." Andy inwardly groaned at her own fumbling words. Thankfully, Miranda seemed to let it pass.

"I'm just going to freshen up. There's a bathroom through there, if you need it." Miranda motioned in the general direction of the hallway.

"Yeah. Okay." Andy grabbed her purse, quickly found the bathroom and touched up her makeup and hair. She was faster than Miranda, so returned to the sitting room to close the patio door. She paused to stare at the sky, which now had streaks of purple combining with darkening pinks as the oranges became more muted.

Turning around, she found Miranda standing there, adjusting her hoop earrings.

"Great view."

"Indeed." Miranda's gaze traveled over her, appraisingly.

"Andrea, are you ready? I cannot be held responsible for my daughters' actions if we make them wait any longer." Andy quickly followed Miranda out of the suite.

Dinner started relatively well. Relatively well, considering that there were six teenagers talking over one another, with intermittent squeals and shouts, and the frequent interruption of their vibrating cell phones. Miranda laid out one rule as they sat down – that cell phones were muted. Andy was thankful for that, as she couldn't imagine the cacophony otherwise. Ordering their meals was a loud and lengthy process as the girls giggled and debated over the menu.

Since the girls weren't old enough to drink and, apparently Miranda wasn't supposed to be drinking, from what Caroline had said, Andy figured she would skip ordering wine with her dinner.

Miranda sat at the head of their table, Andy sitting on one side, Caroline and Cassidy on the other. The girls' four friends occupied the remaining seats.

"Andrea, what will you be having with dinner?" Miranda pointed at the leather-bound wine menu resting on the table between her and Andy.

"Oh, I'm fine."

"Nonsense."

When the waiter returned with their first course, Miranda shot Andy a withering gaze.

"Wine. Andrea. Order."

Andy felt suddenly flustered, reached for the wine menu and knocked over her water goblet with a corner of the menu. The ice-cold water poured along the table and right into Miranda's lap.

"Oh. Oh, no. I'm so sorry."

Miranda removed the soaking napkin from her lap, dropped it to the floor, and reached over to snatch the clean square of linen from Andy's lap.

"I won't melt."

Caroline and Cassidy both had looks of disbelief on their faces that Andy was sure matched her own.

"Mom, are you okay?" Cassidy asked, leaning around her sister to look at her mother with concern.

"Yes, Bobsey. I'm fine. Irv is getting his due, Cecilia is, thankfully, fine, and I get ringside seats to Jacqueline's removal. This, in addition to the culmination of a delightful week with my girls, their friends, and…" she seemed to be unsure how she wanted to refer to Andy as she gazed upon the woman at her side.

Thankfully, Caroline and Cassidy both squealed loudly, saving her from having to finish the sentence.

"Mom! Your birthday!"

Caroline, who sat opposite Andy, turned in her seat and punched her sister's bicep.

"I TOLD you that it was today."

"No, you said it was going to be on Saturday. I didn't know, so I didn't say anything."

"Well, silence implies agreement."

"Girls. Hush. We are in a restaurant. Let's show a little more decorum, shall we?"

"Are they right, Miranda?"

"About what, Andrea?" Miranda avoided Andy's gaze and patted the cloth napkin along her legs, distractedly.

"Is today your birthday?"

"At my age, birthdays are superfluous."

"Shit." Caroline punched her sister's arm again.

"Caroline. Final warning."

"But, Mom. We missed your birthday!" Caroline wailed.

"Carrie, quiet." Andy was struck by Cassidy's smooth, quiet delivery of the admonishment, so very much like her mother in that moment.

"Mom. Caroline and I have our gifts for your birthday waiting for you when you get home tomorrow. I'm sorry we won't get to see your reaction."

Caroline appeared to hold back a small choke.

"Girls, I can wait and open them when you get back from your father's on Sunday night."

"None of them are wrapped. But, there is one gift in your den, with a bow on it, one in the kitchen, with a bow on it, and two in your closet, with bows on them. We wanted you to have presents even if we were with dad. And we have another gift we were going to give you when we got home on Sunday."

"You didn't need to get me anything, Cassidy. This week has been present enough. All too soon, you and your friends will be off to college, all grown up."

"Yeah, well, we're sorry we screwed up. We do have a card that we were going to give you tomorrow morning. It's, you know, back in our room." Caroline sighed.

"Tomorrow is fine. Now let's enjoy our dinner." The twins quietly groused at each other for a few moments. Slowly, though, as the minutes passed, their shame dissipated and their volume increased until they were loudly chattering with their friends as if nothing had happened.

"I'm so sorry, Miranda. I didn't realize it was your birthday."

"I think we've dropped the topic, Andrea." Miranda sounded supremely unamused.

"Um. Sure. Well, maybe you can help me pick out a decent wine?"

Miranda pulled her reading glasses out of her purse and looked at the wine menu that Andy turned towards her.

"You ordered the quail, so you'll want a decent red...a Pinot Noir, if they have it." Miranda turned the page, her fingers brushing Andy's wrist.

"Mmm." Miranda put a hand over Andy's and pulled the list closer.

"Yes, this one." She pointed to a spot on the page, guiding it back towards they younger woman.

"The Bouchard?"

"Yes. It isn't the best, but compared to the other options, and taking into consideration your underdeveloped palate, it should do nicely."

"Miranda, my tastes might not always mirror your own, but I do know what I like." Andy bristled.

"Do you?" Miranda slid her reading glasses off and tapped her chin with them. There was an undeniably devilish look in her eyes.

Andy felt suddenly light-headed. The room dimmed and she grabbed the edge of the table.

"Andrea?" she heard the note of concern laced in Miranda's query.

"Are you okay?" Andy's vision cleared, and she noticed Caroline was staring across the table at her.

"Yes. I'm fine."

The meal finished out uneventfully. The girls were silent for the car ride back to the hotel. When they got out and followed Miranda into the hotel lobby, the snow-haired woman stopped suddenly and turned.

"Girls. Are you following me? I thought you were going to celebrate your last night of the trip with loud music and disgusting food choices. I even had the hotel deliver your favorite forbidden snacks while we were at dinner. You had better not let it go to waste."

"But, Mom, don't you want us to spend the evening with you? For your birthday?"

"Whatever for? So we can sit around staring at each other? No. Go on."

"Thanks, Mom." The girls quickly hugged their mother, and flew out of the lobby with their friends.

"You are coming up, aren't you Andrea?"

"Um. Well, maybe for a moment." Miranda allowed the younger woman to ride an elevator with her for the second time that evening. Andy was sure, both times, to remain still and silent.

Once inside the suite, Miranda poured them each a goblet of Pellegrino, and they sat back down on the white leather sofa.

"So, um, you don't have to tell me, but why aren't you supposed to be drinking?"

Miranda sighed, crossed her legs.

"If I'm going to answer such personal questions, I refuse to do so with you sitting so far away. I simply will not shout."

Andy slid closer, suddenly worried if her deodorant had held up well enough, if her breath was horrible after the dinner, and if she might actually have the opportunity to kiss Miranda again.

"I started getting migraines about a year ago. My physician believes that wine, or alcohol in general, to be a trigger."

"That sucks," Andy stated, staring at Miranda's hands moving restlessly in her lap.

Miranda chuckled, "Yes, well. He also felt caffeine could be a trigger. We compromised. I keep my coffee and he continues to breathe." She reached for her water glass and took a sip.

Andy snorted in amusement.

"The migraines should be only a temporary problem, so I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I hold onto the hope of being able to enjoy a fine Merlot again, soon." Miranda whispered, a wistful look in her eyes.

Andy tilted her chin towards the older woman, and felt her own heart race. With a shaky hand, she reached out and clasped one of Miranda's. When the older woman didn't pull away, Andy turned into her, her free hand moving to the nape of Miranda's neck as she brought her lips closer.

For a fraction of a second, their lips hovered near enough to breathe each other's air. Then, Andy slowly brought hers lips down on Miranda's. The kiss began with caution, but soon Andy couldn't hold back, as she felt desire filling her.

She began to alternate between hungry kisses and nibbles along Miranda's lower lip. She felt Miranda start to fight back a bit with short brushes of her own tongue along Andy's lips. With each stroke, Miranda became more insistent. Before long, their tongues were caressing each other, their hands began to roam, and Andy was quite sure that the moan she heard wasn't her own. The moan got louder, and then Andy pulled away.

"I…need…to…breathe."

"You haven't developed a better lung capacity? How unfortunate."

Andy knew she had a goofy grin on her face, and didn't care. After they both took some deep breaths, flushed cheeks slightly cooling, Miranda pulled Andy back in for more.

The younger woman felt Miranda's hands sliding along her back, pulling her almost into her lap. Andy moved her lips away from Miranda's mouth, tracing a thumb along the plump lips as she kissed her way along the woman's chin, up to her ear, nibbling for a moment.

"Oh, yes." Miranda's breathy voice sent a jolt straight to Andy's groin. She let her hand slide down from Miranda's lips to her shoulder. As she continued to kiss her way back along Miranda's jaw and down her neck, she felt Miranda take the hand from her shoulder and guide it a few inches lower, to her breast.

Andy gasped as she felt the soft, full breast through the stitching of Miranda's bra and the fabric of her blouse. Miranda arched into her, and Andy reflexively squeezed before sliding her hand down, pulling the blouse up, freeing it from the woman's slacks.

Miranda pulled away a little.

"I've never," she touched her fingers carefully to the base of Andy's neck, her eyes casting about the semi-darkened room.

"That's okay. We don't have to, if you're don't feel ready."

"I like this, Andrea, but I'm not sure I'm ready to..."

"That's okay."

Their bodies stilled, the sound of their breathing echoing loudly in Andy's ears.

"The Bouchard was definitely a good choice." Miranda stated.

Andy groaned and slid off Miranda's lap.

"Seriously, Miranda? That's your line?"

"It's the truth." The older woman finger-combed her hair into place and gave Andy a feigned look of pain.

"Please."

"Andrea." She felt fingers reach out and tuck long strands of hair behind an ear, caressing her cheek. "That was a lovely birthday gift."

"My pleasure." Andy blushed as she cleared her throat. And then stifled a yawn.

Miranda, of course, caught this, and rolled her eyes.

"I suppose I should go. Long day." Andy smoothed her hands over the now quite-wrinkled Vera skirt.

Her words were met with a soft sigh.

"Unfortunately, I have some papers to read and sign tonight." Miranda's tone changed, "Andrea? When is your flight back tomorrow?"

"Um, I think just after noon."

"What airline?"

"Oh. I took a corporate..."

Miranda's eyes glittered.

"Would you like to fly back with me? Oh. Crap. The girls." Andy brought her hand up to her head. Dumb idea.

Miranda waved a hand dismissively, giving Andy flashbacks to several years previously, the movement a Miranda classic. "They can safely fly on their own. I detest commercial flights, but neither do I relish the thought of 3 hours alone with them in a small plane while they debate Britney Spears' musical talent, whether the latest heartthrob from 'Twilight' is cuter than that boy from 'Transformers' and their painful incessant squeaks that I'm certain are used by the CIA as an effective torture technique that slips under the Geneva Conventions radar."

"So..."

"I'll ensure they safely board their flight at 11am, then join you. I'm sure I will have questions about those documents that we'll need to discuss."

"Cool." Andy grinned, stood, and offered a hand to Miranda as the older woman moved to rise from the couch as well.

As they walked to the door, Miranda straightened her blouse, fiddled with her hoop earrings.

"Goodnight, Miranda." Andy turned.

"No goodnight kiss? Has all chivalry died with your generation?"

Andy needed no further prompting, sliding a hand to the small of Miranda's back and pulling her in for a long, languid kiss. She thrilled in the feel of the older woman's passionate response, their tongues sliding over each other, Miranda's fingernails massaging Andy's scalp.

When the separated, Andy whispered, "What a kiss."

Miranda gave her a cocky look.

"You look rather pleased with yourself."

"When I can make you look so delightfully gob-smacked, Andrea, of course I'm pleased."

"And so modest, too," Andy intoned, wryly.

"Goodnight, Andrea." Miranda gave her a small kiss on the cheek and moved off towards the bedroom. Andy shook her head, opened the door, and made the long trip to her own very empty suite.


	5. Ring of Fire

Chapter 5: "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash (Part 1 of 2)

* * *

Andy quite literally slept like a baby, waking up every few hours. When Miranda rang her room at half past eight in the morning, she roused the young lawyer from slumber.

"Yes?" Andy fumbled with the bedside phone – dropping it on the bed before frantically digging through the covers to find it.

"Andrea? Andrea?" Miranda looked in the mirror, smoothed a finger over her eyebrow. About to hang up in frustration, she heard the young woman's voice again.

"Um. Hello?"

"Andrea."

"Hey, Miranda," Andy smiled, cleared her throat. She sat up, untangling the bed sheet from around her.

"Were you still sleeping?" The query, laced with incredulity cut through sleepy haze.

"Um, well, yeah. I –"

"Pleasant dreams, I hope." Miranda's quiet voice had dropped an octave, sending a delightful tremor through Andy's semi-somnolent frame. She ran a hand over her face, stimulating a small yawn, which, of course, Miranda heard. Andy froze, waiting for the inevitable retort.

"A living female version of Rip Van Winkle walking the planet. How ironic."

"Why is that?" Andy massaged her neck, struggling to follow the conversation. Dark chestnut strands of hair fell across her face.

Miranda turned her back to the mirror and crossed to a desk, quite done with the subject and moving on, "Andrea, the papers are signed. I will be leaving to take the girls to the airport just after nine and should be back by 10:30."

Andy was approaching conscious thought by now. Thankfully, Jennifer's note with the flight information was in plain view for her to read from.

"That sounds good. The car is scheduled to pick us up at 11:00."

"Mmm. I'll let you get back to your dreams about…whatever it is lawyers dream about."

There was a click of the line before Andy could respond. She replaced the handset on its base and fell back on the memory foam pillows littering the large bed. Laying there, she considered that if she continued to pursue a relationship with the fashion maven, she was going to have to accept the impossibility of Miranda displaying proper phone etiquette.

With a groan, Andy rolled out of bed and went to test out the shower that looked like a decontamination unit for a chemical weapon plant – the large, white tile space full of nozzles and knobs.

A short time later, as she was applying her make-up, a loud knock echoed through her suite. Andy strolled down the small hallway, opening her door to discover Miranda.

"Well, at least you're up. That's a good sign." The white-haired woman handed off a mug as she entered the suite. Andy looked at it, confused.

"Coffee, Andrea."

"Oh, thank you."

"You were still getting ready." Miranda dipped her chin in the direction of Andy's other hand, clutching a tube of mascara.

"Hmm? Yeah." Andy took a sip of the coffee, and as she lowered the mug, she looked down, damp hair falling around her shoulders.

"Are those the Marilyn Monroe Ferragamos?" Andy queried, spying the classically designed black and white heels.

"I believe you mean the Viatica Ferragamos. While Marilyn may have made them famous, they aren't actually named after her." Miranda gave a small nod to Andy.

"Are you kidding? Half the women at Trump L.A. would kill for them."

"And what would you do?" Miranda's voice dropped as she placed a steadying hand on the mug, which Andy had been dangerously tipping while admiring the shoes, Miranda's outfit, and…Miranda. The shoes complemented the loose-fitting black slacks and Tom Ford black-and-white checker designed blouse. Andy found the outfit understated the woman's curve of hip, curve of breast – tantalizing in what it didn't reveal.

Andy shivered as Miranda's fingers brushed against her own along the cup's edge. She leaned in, sweeping her lips along a corner of Miranda's mouth before whispering her response.

"Forget the shoes. I'd kill for the woman wearing them." Her stomach flip-flopped and her heart fluttered at the small keening sound that emanated from Miranda's throat. Slowly, they separated, and Andy marveled as she stared into dilated pupils. Shifting her gaze, a lazy grin crossed her face at the sight of a tinge of pink skin along the other woman's long neck.

"Here are the papers." Miranda snapped into business mode, reached into her purse, pulled out a bundle to hand off.

"Um, thanks." Andy balanced the mascara and packet of papers in one hand, coffee in the other. As she juggled the items, she was vaguely aware that Miranda was sizing up her Diane von Furstenberg classic wrap dress in a navy and white print. When she looked up, Miranda was focused on the V-neck of the dress and clearly displayed cleavage, eyes unfocused.

"I need to go." Miranda suddenly turned, opened the front door.

"Wait, I-," but the door was already closing as Miranda slipped out. Andy sighed, defeated. She looked at the clock – it was after nine o'clock, which meant the woman was likely headed to the airport run with the twins and their friends. Nonetheless, Andy was starting to become irritated by way Miranda could turn her on and then leave her wanting.

She finished her make-up and called Mike's assistant to pass along that she would have the signed papers back in the office late that afternoon. After packing up her small carry-on bag, and rechecking her make-up, hair, and dress several times in the mirror, Andy glanced at the clock. Seeing that it was approaching eleven, she made her way down to the front desk to check out.

Miranda was already there, directing the bellboy as he rolled her three large suitcases out to the waiting car.

"There you are. Is that all your luggage?" Miranda peered around Andy, brow faintly furrowed at the lack of sizeable baggage.

"Yep." Andy felt self-conscious as her bag was thrown with ease atop the pile in the trunk of the large Mercedes sedan. The ride to the airport was quiet, and once they were buckled in on the plane, Andy turned to Miranda.

"Aren't you glad you aren't in a flying teenage tube of terror?" Andy gave a wide grin, feeling quite the wordsmith.

There was a snort in response. Andy reached over and put a hand on Miranda's lap, fingers gently caressing through slacks in small half-circles, "I'm glad that you're flying back with me."

"Andrea, I," Miranda's hand grasped Andy's from her thigh, shaking as her fingers curled around the younger woman's palm. She didn't finish the sentence, but moved Andy's hand to the plush leather arm rest/console between them and pulled a couple of newspapers out of her black and white Kate Spade handbag. Andy watched as the older woman slid her glasses into place and began to peruse the New York Times. After a moment, the lawyer sighed and pulled out her laptop to review her notes on a nuisance suit involving _Asian Runway_.

Miranda didn't take too long to tear through the newspapers. In her peripheral vision, Andy noticed the other woman tuck the papers in the seat's side pocket and slide out a bright orange folder emblazoned with 'Versace'. The Editor's earlier aborted statement was gnawing at her, so she shut her laptop and cleared her throat.

Miranda glanced at her then looked back at the unopened folder, fingering the edges of the cover, but not opening it, either. Neither said anything for several minutes. Andy sat patiently, waiting out the older woman's silence.

"I'm not looking for some silly mid-life crisis affair."

"Okaaay."

Miranda raised her chin to face Andy, taking in the waves of chestnut hair framing the younger woman's face, the faint trace of freckles across the bridge of Andy's nose, the large, espresso-colored irises that lulled her into their depths.

"It has taken years to establish _Runway _as the standard by which all other fashion magazines are judged, because it has attained and maintained a level of perfection by which the fashion industry itself strives for, Andrea. I've heard stories come and go over the years about 'The Dragon Lady,' 'The Ice Queen,' 'The Devil in Prada.' Stories in which I terrorize, maim, or even eat staff members. Such myths have served as a sign that I've been doing my job – after all, if they are nipping at my heels, it is because they cannot reach any higher – _Runway_ is the Mount Everest that others only dream of conquering." She looked out the window, her eyes not focused on the wisps of cloud that swirled by them, but at some scene playing out in her head.

"I've finally reached the plateau at the summit, where I can risk a little, where _Runway_'s success is secure enough that I can use my position, my clout, to truly influence others-wisely, with consideration. Five years ago, I wouldn't have been able to criticize Condoleezza Rice's lack of fashion, even cautiously, without worrying how it might affect sales or cause backlash. Now, _Runway_ is secure in its status, and I can pan the current Secretary of State's horrid sense of fashion – and then coerce her into a six-page spread on the challenges and rewards in her position as she breaks finally free of her ex-Presidential husband's shadow." Miranda's shoulders twitched, "And if readers are a little stirred up, so be it. But," Now the snowy head turned so that an intense gaze could be directed towards Andy, "I will not frivolously throw away all that _Runway_ is, all that I am. I refuse to end up as yet another old woman chasing after an impossible dream."

Miranda returned to gazing out the window, her shoulders drooping somewhat, diatribe complete.

"Is Cecilia, is the Board, asking you to…chase after an impossible dream, as you put it?" Andy felt like she was missing something obvious, only she didn't quite know what.

"No." Miranda snapped her head around to pierce Andy yet again with icy blue-grey eyes. "You are."

Andy made a small jump, feeling her seatbelt cut into the thin material of her dress. She knew better than to try and decipher the poker face that had slid into place obscuring the Editor's message. Unable to read Miranda's non-verbal communication and fully aware that asking further questions was out, Andy sat there and thought over what she did have to work with - what Miranda had said. She pondered over possible meanings to the 'I didn't come this far' soliloquy and the 'impossible dream' phrase. Most of what she had heard she couldn't see as being about her, but the initial words, what Miranda had started off with…'silly mid-life crisis affair,' or something along those lines…

Anger started to build up at the thought that Miranda might have, likely had, made assumptions, shallow conclusions, about Andy and her intentions. Miranda had been pushing her away while pulling her close, and Andy wasn't going to sit there and take it any longer.

"If you were looking for this, for me, to be some mid-life fling, then you are definitely chasing after an impossible dream, Miranda freakin' Priestly. I am not some toy you can play with and toss to the side, or, some 'silly crisis' or 'affair.' And I don't know where you would get the idea that I asked you to participate in such an arrangement, let alone want that myself." Andy undid her seat belt and went to the small lavatory for a minute to cool down.

When she emerged, Andy contemplated sitting in one of the other two seats in the plane's small cabin – seats that put space between her and Miranda. This internal debate was interrupted by the instigator herself.

"Andrea. Sit down." Voice weary, pleading. Following a short pause came a singular word, the clincher, "Please."

Miranda didn't use unnecessary words. Extraneous niceties indicating gratitude, greeting, or farewell weren't even in her vocabulary. The shock, therefore, of hearing 'please' fall from the woman's lips shocked Andy. She sat down next to Miranda.

"Did you just say 'please'?" Andy squeaked out.

"If I'm going to get looks like that and interrogated for it, then the answer is 'No.'" Andy raised an eyebrow and her chin to look at Miranda, surprised to see a quirk of the Editor's lips.

"When I dropped the girls off at the airport, it started me thinking… Andrea, I have no experience in a same-sex relationship, and two failed marriages do not bode well. I am not sure that I can promise a fairy tale ending. If we pursue things further, we'll both regret it."

Andy sat there, stunned.

The pilot came on over the intercom to let them know they would be landing momentarily. As their bags were transferred to the Elias-Clarke sedan, Andy realized she couldn't handle Miranda predetermining her fate and shutting her out just when she thought they were making progress. The older woman quietly climbed into the back seat while the last bags were carried over to the trunk.

"I'll take that one," Andy took her bag from the driver. "I'll be taking alternate transportation." The driver gave her a quizzical look.

"Ma'am, I'll send Jake with one of the other cars for you. I don't think you'll find another way to safely get back otherwise."

"Fine." She watched as he climbed into the car and drove off. She extended the handle on the bag, ensured her briefcase and purse were settled on her shoulder, and began walking across the tarmac to the small, but elegantly appointed building attached to the control tower. The heat radiating up at her caused trickles of sweat to form along her hairline, quickly tickling the back of her neck before she had traveled more than 50 feet. By the time she made it to the building, Andy had a slick sheen along her arms, neck, and face. She went straight in to the women's lounge to cool down and freshen up while awaiting her ride.

Emerging from the bathroom, Andy found Miranda standing just inside the building's entrance, the black company car idling outside.

"You do NOT get to walk away from me again." There was a tremble to her voice, but Andy couldn't see her eyes or read the expression on her face, as the overly large Louis Vuitton sunglasses obscured so much from view.

"Fine." Andy circled around Miranda and out the door. She kept her back to the woman while the driver popped the trunk and carefully nudged Andy's bag inside.

Once the car was moving, Andy flipped a switch along the door panel, causing a glass partition to rise between the front and back of the vehicle, affording her some privacy as she prepared to chew out the Editor-in-Chief of Elias-Clarke's most revered magazine.

"I'm not the young and innocent assistant anymore, believing in a Disney-esque 'happily ever after'. While I know perfectly well about your abysmal track record in the relationship department, I also know what I want, and whom I want. I am aware of the counts against us, but believe that anything, or anyone, worth having means getting hurt sometimes. Of course, for quite some time, I didn't think I would find someone worth getting hurt over. And it's no secret that you can be a callous, inconsiderate force of nature. Despite that, I want you, Miranda. I want you, because I know you are all those things, but you are also more. You are sexy, smart, and have an incredible heart. It is a given that pursing a relationship with Miranda Priestly is not for the faint of heart - you tempt and aggravate all at once. Somehow, I thought you might see me as more than another opportunity for failure in your personal life. I had hoped you wouldn't just write me off without even giving your heart, or mine, a chance. Not a promise, but a chance."

Andy's anger started to subside a little, and her tear ducts prepared to kick into action, "It just seems wrong that I finally realize I've been wanting you, looking for you ever since that day in Paris, five…or maybe six years ago? Only now that I know that I want you and have you within reach, I get turned away." She took a steadying breath, internally cursing herself for not maintaining her cool.

They were both silent for several long minutes, the faint hum of traffic flowing over the vehicle.

"Six years, eight months, and two…no, three weeks."

It took Andy a moment for what she heard to work through the layers of hurt and anguish so she could absorb what it meant if Miranda had kept precise track of the length of time since the Paris incident.

She could feel Miranda's eyes on her, but was afraid once she looked into them, she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill over her lower lashes. Andy swallowed back her emotions, steeled herself. Dragging her eyes up, she lifted a hand to Miranda's chin. Slowly, she leant in to bestow a gentle kiss, keeping her eyes on the woman's lips, her cheek, her neck – anywhere but those blue-grey orbs which she knew would surely be her undoing.

When Andy pulled back, she realized there was a drop of moisture on her upper lip – a teardrop? But, she wasn't crying, and she was certain that it wasn't sweat after she had been sure to do a thorough freshening up at Teterboro's lavish ladies' room.

With her heart feeling like it was literally twisting in agony within her chest, she turned her gaze to see faint lines of moisture running down the older woman's cheeks.

"Hey," her voice cracked, and the hand still resting on Miranda's chin wobbled a little.

Miranda grasped that hand, raised it, and kissed a finger with gentle reverence. She kissed another, and a third, then turned Andy's hand over and placed kisses along the inside of Andy's wrist.

Andy pulled her arm away, causing Miranda to look up, concern etched across a porcelain face. Wordlessly, Andy tapped a finger to her lips, directing the other woman to where she wished the next kiss to land. Obligingly, Miranda leant in.

The duration of the car ride was spent in gentle caresses, fingers tracing over faces, ears, necks, arms; tickling along necklines, hem lines, and bra straps; cupping, weighing, and massaging breasts; smoothing over stomachs and tugging at hips. When they pulled to a stop in front of work, Andy wasn't sure how Miranda had come to end up unbelted and sprawled across her lap. She didn't much care, either.

With not a little regret, they disentangled themselves, pressed out the wrinkles in their outfits, and made their way inside. When they both got on the same elevator, no one in the lobby said a word. Andy went straight to Jennifer's desk and dropped off the paperwork Miranda had signed. She went into her office to catch up on email communications with the assistants of the other _Runway_ magazines regarding travel and meeting times with the Board the following week.

About an hour later, Mike called her into his office.

"I guess the 'lay low' part of negotiations didn't work." He continued to make notes along the margins of the document he was reviewing.

Andy blinked in confusion, but quickly recovered, "I suppose that depends."

Mike looked up at her, his face incredulous, "Andy. It depends? She's upstairs working. I don't think you can convince me that such behavior is 'laying low' by any definition."

Andy's Trump experience helped her to keep her poker face even as her mind reeled as she searched her memory for the 'lay low' reference. Then, it hit her. She had forgotten to tell Miranda about staying out of the office.

"Go talk to her. Except for her brief meeting with the Board on Monday morning, she needs to be out of the office until after Wednesday. As per our previous conversation."

"Mike. I-I need to trade with someone else. I can't be the liaison for _Runway_ any more."

With a sigh, he laid his pen down, reclined back in his chair, and gave her a long, evaluative look.

"Sit down." Andy hesitated then slid into the seat. She reiterated her desire to trade publication assignments with one of her colleagues.

"Bulls—t." Mike replied. "Why do you think you went with me to see Cecilia? Why do you think you were the one assigned to _Runway_?"

Andy snorted, "Why don't you tell me?" Deftly placing the onus on him to explain, she sat back and waited for his response.

Mike ran a hand through his thinning hair and clearly weighed whether to explain or not.

"_American Runway_ is Elias-Clarke's anchor publication, its foreign offshoots a success beyond our wildest dreams. You are our department's shining star, Ms. Sachs, thus a perfect match. Not to mention, this will prepare you for the road ahead. I fully expect you to be able to take over the reigns when I retire next year."

Andy was VERY sure that what she thought she heard couldn't really be true. And her disbelief must have been obvious.

"You excelled at Trump Enterprises, after Stanford and at _Runway_, before Stanford. Your ability to shine while working for two, notoriously demanding employers shows that you are more than capable of mitigating the fallout of difficult personalities. So, I find it intriguing that you are sitting here telling me that you can't do what you so obviously excel at."

Andy didn't seem convinced, her eyes cast downward at her hands resting in her lap.

"To state the obvious - Donald Trump is able to work effectively with his children, because they are able to be professionals with each other at work. Whether they just had a fight or just had a 'Hallmark card' moment as a family, they set that aside when at work. I know you have history, good and bad, with Miranda Priestly, but bottom line – get over it. Find a way to do your job, and find it fast. Don't come in here again begging for a reassignment."

He took a slow breath and looked her square in the eye, "Now go upstairs and get her out of the office. Except for Monday morning's meeting with the Board, I don't want to hear about her entering the building again until next Thursday. Go."

He picked up his pen, cleared his throat, and went back to reviewing the papers on his desk. Andy slipped out of his office, took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and strode towards the elevators. She had a hard time accepting how much the emotional roller coaster ride the past few days had drained her. Before going upstairs to tell Miranda to go home, she decided a little caffeine boost was in order.

After securing a tray full of beverages, she boarded the elevator going up, hopefully for the last time that day. When she emerged on the ninth floor, she made a beeline for the Art Department.

"Hey, Nigel."

"Six. I don't know whether to kiss you or tar and feather you."

"Why?"

"Well, the Queen Bee is in a good mood after being out of the office for just over a week. That is a never-before-seen phenomena, rarer than Halley's Comet."

"Haley's Comet?"

"Never mind. It's beside the point, because I could also strangle you. Whatever you discussed on your little trip down to sizzling Miami put a definite smile on her face. But it also made a lot of people nervous. I have colleagues from _French_, _British_, _Asian_, and _Brazilian Runway_ all trying to pump me for information on why the lawyer newly assigned to the Runway family made a special trip to see Miranda. I can't finish coordinating the October cover shoot if I'm having to constantly tell everyone that I know nothing."

"Here, have a coffee, Nigel. And, think of it this way, when you tell them you don't know anything, that's a good thing. Plausible deniability can be your friend, Nige. Let it in."

He retorted, "I don't need to let in any friend that can't take five pounds from Kate Hudson's waist." Setting down the ocular lens, he raised his eyes to stare her down.

"Feeling puckish?"

"No," he responded as he again leant over his light board. "I'm jealous. You must have met a hot Miami dish over mojitos. It seems wholly unfair that both you and 'la Priestly' should return in such good spirits."

"You'll be smiling soon enough."

He gasped and stood up straight.

"Jacqueline getting ousted at last?" He glowed at the possibility. "There is no way she should have been allowed back after the falling out with James Holt last year."

Andy burst out laughing, "Nigel, Nigel, Nigel. Wait and see." The whole way across the 9th floor to Miranda's office, Andy created various mental images of his reaction when he found out about Jacqueline and his possible reassignment. She also pondered what his reaction might be to whom the 'hot Miami dish' was that she had, in fact, snagged.

Charity, strangely enough, wasn't at her desk. Andy gave the area a cursory glance, left one of the beverages and the tray on the younger woman's desk, and stepped through the double doors to the inner office, the warmth of Miranda's drink searing into one hand, while her own iced beverage chilling the other.

Miranda's chair was turned towards the large windows, the sun's slow descent sending rays of light bouncing off the windows of nearby office buildings and setting the older woman's silvery white hair aglow. Andy took a deep breath and circled around the large wooden desk, holding the hot cup just in front of the nearest well-manicured hand.

"That was fast." Miranda murmured, unmoving in her seat. The comment clarified to Andy why Charity was missing.

"I worship at the Church of St. Arbucks almost as regularly as you, Miranda." The sound of Andy's voice caught the Editor off guard, and she turned in her chair, staring at the young lawyer standing so close she could smell the familiar notes of cinnamon in Andy's perfume.

"Miranda, your communion chalice?" She placed the hot beverage on the desk in front of the woman. They stared at one another in silence for a moment. Andy could see that Miranda was struggling between several possible responses.

"I have that conference call with the Board in ten minutes –since I, we, were traveling at the time they originally wanted to talk. Do you need something?"

"Well, yes. I need to tell you that after your call, if the Board doesn't tell you this themselves, it has been requested that you work from home until Thursday. Several Elias-Clarke Senior Editors and other employees will be negatively impacted by the restructuring meetings next week. It would be to your benefit to be out of sight. I meant to tell you before we got back." Andy intently studied the ice cubes floating around in her iced latte, as she swirled the straw.

"Well, that will be something I'll definitely be discussing with the Board during the call. Is that all?" Miranda briefly glanced up through her lashes at Andy, then returned her gaze to her own drink, which she made a point to sip while leaning back in her chair. Clearly, both women were working to keep their discussion on topic. Andy broke down first.

"Actually, I was also wondering if you were free for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yes," came the immediate reply. "Six o'clock. I'll have Nora make her legendary lasagna." Andy almost broke out in laughter. The rapid response was an obvious sign that the older woman had been contemplating the idea of a dinner date as well. Miranda's fingers restlessly played with the cardboard sleeve around her cup.

Andy grinned, "Sounds great. Lasagna's fine." She turned a little, waiting to be dismissed, but the usual 'That's all' remark never came. Seeing Miranda turning her attention to her laptop, Andy figured she was clear to leave. When she got back to her office, the plethora of emails from _Brazilian_ and _British Runway_ were reproducing like rabbits, filling up her Inbox with useless queries and endless requests. Almost two hours later, she heeded the sound of her stomach growling and closed up her office for the evening.

Her loft was welcoming in its silence. As she sat back with the latest copy of the _Stanford Law Review_, her phone's generic ring tone went off. Not recognizing the number, she hesitated to answer it.

"Hello, this is Andy."

"Missing anything?"

Startled, she almost spilled her dirty martini, "Well, um, there's the obvious answer – you."

A small chuckle warmed her in places that her drink couldn't touch, "Andrea. You must listen more carefully. I asked if you were missing 'anything' not 'anyone.'"

"Oh." Andy pondered this while setting down the heavy tumbler.

"Your suitcase was obviously so small, you've forgotten it altogether."

Wildly, Andy cast her gaze around the living room, remembering as she did so, that she had left her travel case in the trunk of the car that afternoon.

"It will be here at the house when you come over tomorrow, as it didn't seem to have anything you needed urgently enough to remember it…I can have it delivered tonight, if you prefer."

"Tomorrow is fine. Thanks, Miranda."

"Very well." Andy smiled as the phone line clicked.


	6. Ring of Fire Conclusion

Chapter 6: Conclusion - "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash

* * *

Saturday morning, Andy made a trip to the gym, hoping to work off some of her nervous energy. When that had no effect, she did a top to bottom cleaning of her loft even though she had a professional service that came through each week. It gave her something to focus on besides the pending dinner date.

Finally, she turned her attention to freshening up and finding something appropriate to wear. Settling on a DKNY pantsuit, she stopped at a wine shop en route to the Priestly residence before remembering Miranda's wine restriction. As she stepped back out onto the street, she remembered a great bakery that Nate had liked several years ago, just a couple of blocks away. Deciding to take a chance on it still being there, Andy strode down the street.

Once she had a fresh-from-the-oven loaf of French bread, she hailed a taxi for the duration of the trip to the Priestly townhouse.

Miranda opened the front door before Andy reached the top step. As the door closed behind her, the older woman proffered a hand to take Andy's pashmina shawl. Once it was tucked inside the foyer closet, Miranda turned and quickly pinned the younger woman against the closet door.

Andrea easily gave in to the passionate welcome, sliding her free hand behind Miranda's neck as tongues greeted one another and lips sucked and pulled as if they had been separated for much longer than just one day.

When they parted, Andrea watched as Miranda stepped back and scrutinized her pantsuit, the action done unconsciously, facial expression revealing nothing.

"Dinner should be ready in a moment." Miranda turned on her heel, her fluted black Calvin Klein skirt swirling about her shapely legs, a sight not lost on Andy, who rapidly followed down the hall and into the large, bright kitchen.

"There's a cutting board and bread knife over there," Miranda pointed to a small countertop at one end of the room. Andy slid the loaf of bread out of its bag, somewhat embarrassed to see it had been slightly mashed on one side, a casualty from the passionate greeting moments before.

Miranda strode over and pulled a cutting board out from a slot just under the countertop with one hand, the other hand briefly brushing against the younger woman's lower back. Andy removed a bread knife from the magnetic utensil strip against the wall and began slicing as Miranda stepped away.

"What do you think of this?" a goblet with a small puddle of deep burgundy liquid appeared next to her elbow.

Andy lifted the glass, swirled, sniffed briefly, sipped the liquid. As she did so, she saw Miranda's blurred image through the side of the glass. There was no mistaking, distortion or not, the hungry look in the older woman's eyes, which were focused on Andy's mouth. The young woman wondered, as she lowered the goblet, if the look was directed at her lips or at the wine entering her mouth. It had to be torture not to be able to enjoy something one enjoyed so much.

"Mmm. Almost heaven."

"That's how a French merlot should be." Miranda took the glass and filled it, deftly twisting the bottle as she finished pouring, preventing any stray drops from escaping. Andy paused in her bread slicing as she watched the woman pour another glass, mesmerized by her every move. Miranda, unaware she was being watched, set the second goblet down on the island, studied the bottle label in one hand, while her tucking a soft curl of hair back behind her ear. Andy detected a small smile on the woman's face and was warmed by the sight. Miranda walked further off, carrying the open bottle through an arched doorway into another room, breaking Andy from her reverie.

After a small pause, the brunette took a small slice of the bread, nibbled at it and sipped at her wine as she finished her handiwork on the loaf.

A small basket lined in a goldenrod cloth landed next to her. With a chuckle at Miranda's timing, Andy transferred the bread into the basket, carried the cutting board and knife to the kitchen island. As she placed the knife in the sink and wiped off the board with a damp kitchen cloth, she was stunned to see Miranda reach for the wine glass there and take an appreciative sip.

"I, um, I thought wine gave you migraines."

Miranda raised a defiant eyebrow, pink cheeks betraying her otherwise stoic face.

"I'm learning that sometimes pain is a necessary risk in pursuing what I love most in life. Would you mind getting the salad from the refrigerator?" Andy watched, frozen in place as Miranda used a set of potholders to carry a steaming hot pan through the archway.

They wordlessly went about dinner, each having a small salad, a healthy slice of the lasagna with warm French bread, and the delicious Merlot. Neither seemed ill at ease with the lack of conversation. As they cleared away the dishes and cleaned up, Miranda poured them each a tall glass of Pellegrino. Andy wondered if the woman owned stock in the company, considering her brand loyalty.

There was something calming about the ordinariness of loading a dishwasher and hand-washing a few of the more fragile items, the routine activities of domesticity comforting.

"That goes in the drawer over there." Miranda pointed a soap-bubble covered pink glove across the room.

As Andy slid the silver serving spatula into the drawer indicated, she heard Miranda emptying the sink and rinsing off her gloves. She returned to Miranda's side and watched as the older woman toweled off the gloves, shed them, and tucked them away into a lower cabinet.

Andy marveled at the curve of hips, of buttocks while Miranda was bent over. As Miranda returned upright, the brunette wrapped her arms around her waist, rest her cheek on the nearest shoulder. She marveled at the warmth of the woman in her arms, snuggled into the curve of Miranda's spine, enjoying the soft, subtle perfume and the almost silent breathing as ribs expanded and contracted under her touch.

Andy heard a click from the front of the house and realized the Book was being delivered. She waited another minute or two for the sound of the front door opening and closing again before she released her grasp and stepped away, reluctantly.

"I really enjoyed this evening. I, um, think Charity just dropped off the Book, and I know you'll need to catch up, after being gone all week."

Miranda turned her head so fast, Andy thought she'd have whiplash, "No." The vehemence of her statement accentuated by a fierce look.

"You have…night things in your luggage, I assume. I would like your company while I look over the Book."

"So, you…want me to spend the night?" She lifted an eyebrow, questioningly. Admittedly, after Miranda's hesitancy at intimacy just a couple of nights ago, it was a little surprising to be invited so soon to…oh, the fantasies that ran through her head.

An exasperated sigh re-established her place in reality, "Unless you have a pet goldfish requiring your imminent return home – yes, I mean for you to stay."

Andy held back a giggle, "Sounds like a great idea." Nervously, she reached back to check that her hair clips were still in place.

"Good. I'm sure your nightwear is more flattering to your figure than that outfit-it doesn't suit you." Miranda crossed the kitchen and paused before Andy. She leaned in and, with one hand at Andy's cheek, gave the younger woman a brief kiss.

"So is this outfit worse than the Vera Wang I wore on Thursday?"

"I loved the Vera Wang. Very flattering. Although, the colors didn't complement your skin tones. There is very little about this particular outfit that works for you – except the prospect of its removal." Fingers landed at Andy's hip, then slid down to caress and cup a buttock.

Andy could feel, with each kiss, each caress, each touch, each look an increasing need for so much more. She could feel the thrum of blood surging to her fingertips, her breasts, her thighs, her groin – everywhere that came in close proximity to the older woman. At the same time, she was caught off guard by Miranda's sudden ease at displaying her desire.

When they separated, Miranda gave Andy's wrist a brief tug, moving towards the front of the house. She slid off her black-and-white 'Marilyn Monroe' shoes, picked them up in one hand, hefted the Book from one of the entryway tables, and began to climb the stairs.

Andy grabbed her carry-on sized suitcase from where it sat near the umbrella stand, following in hot pursuit while struggling to slow her breathing and control her hormones. When they reached the third floor landing, Miranda led her into the Master suite. The room had high ceilings and was decorated in a minimalist style that made the space feel almost cavernous.

"The bathroom is through there."

Andy set her bag down on a bench at the foot of what appeared to be a king –sized bed. She pulled out a few items of clothing and her toiletry bag then disappeared through the doorway Miranda had indicated. A few minutes later, she emerged, hoping that her rapid heart rate wasn't obvious.

Miranda was sitting atop the bedcovers, wrapped in a teal silk robe, paging through the Book. As Andy crossed to the bench at the foot of the bed, she could feel Miranda peering at her over her reading glasses.

"That is certainly unique bed attire."

Andy grinned, devilishly, "You like?"

She twirled around, attempting to ignore the butterflies fluttering through her. Andy knew that the black D&G men's boxer briefs paired with an equally dark Betsey Johnson eyelet-laced camisole top was far from what would ordinarily be classified as pajamas. She bit her lip and hoped that Miranda wasn't going to give her non-traditionalist attire a disapproving pursed lip glare.

"I do. I'll only be another few minutes with this-I prefer to do the majority of my review work in the morning."

Andy breathed a sigh of relief at the assessment and laid her clothes on top of her open bag, slid out a book. She crawled under the covers, plumping her pillow before settling in. Miranda held true to her word, and within fifteen minutes shut the Book and placed it on her bedside table. She slid off her reading glasses, set them and her pen aside, and went into the bathroom. Andy continued to attempt to read the book she was holding, but her vision was blurring and her mind, between fuzzy moments, could only focus on where Miranda was, when she would return, and the myriad possibilities for the night.

Several minutes later, when Miranda ambled back to bed, Andy was slumped over. She circled around to where Andy lay, lifted the paperback from Andy's lap and read the cover. The young woman was stirred awake by the movement.

"Andrea, 'Creative Capitalism?' Is this something you are actually interested in, or do you simply use it as a sleep aid?" Andy chuckled as she watched Miranda drop the book to the side table. She rubbed her eyes as Miranda sat on the edge of the bed. Without her make-up, Miranda's face wasn't nearly as pale, and the fine lines around her eyes, along her forehead, were more visible.

"Andrea, I think you should know that I'm not much of a night owl."

"Okaaay."

"And I'm fairly tired right now."

When there was no response, Miranda continued, playing with the belt on her robe, "You are very attractive, Andrea. I don't want you to think…I DO want you…"

Andy could sense the tension in the woman as she sat there. She pulled her long hair back behind her shoulders while fighting thoughts about the silk robe just in front of her – and exactly how thin that silk might be if she reached out to comfort Miranda – the temptation to caress, to tease. Her brain almost short-circuited as she imagined the feeling of warmth radiating from Miranda to her own, eager hands.

With a steadying breath, she studied Miranda's face.

"I've waited six years and almost nine months. Obviously a good thing is worth waiting for." The intensity of her smile seemed directly connected to the older woman's shoulders, which relaxed in response.

"You Stanford women are remarkably adept at focusing on the bottom line," Miranda turned off the lamp on Andy's side of the bed, raised the covers, and forced her body into the small space between the edge of the mattress and Andy's scantily clad body.

Caught off guard, Andy automatically slid over a little, allowing Miranda more room. A snowy white head settled against her, resting partly on her shoulder, partly on the pillow. She felt the older woman stretch out along the length of her body, an arm reaching across her mid-section and a bare leg thrown unceremoniously over her thighs. At this point, her brain did short circuit. She took shallow breaths, focused on the sensation of Miranda's fingers curved along her chest wall.

"Light."

Andy smirked at the blunt statement, her mind grasping a task she could manage to accomplish. She reached over, flicked off the lamp on Miranda's side of the bed and settled back into place. For several minutes Andy lay there, wondering how she could possibly fall asleep with the warmth of Miranda's body emanating through the caress of silk against the vast expanse of her own exposed skin. Indeed, the material was as thin as she had imagined.

The pondering didn't last long, though. Miranda had fallen asleep almost immediately- the soothing feel of the older woman's breath on her shoulder and the sleeplessness of the previous few nights collaborating to lull Andy into a deep slumber.

"Mmmm," Andy felt a chill and unconsciously reached for the sheet to pull over her head.

"Awake so early?"

Andy's mind fumbled over why she was hearing Miranda's voice. With a groan, she tugged at the sheet tangled around her torso, working the material up and around her shoulders.

"Well, there goes the view."

Andy fell promptly back to sleep.

Some time later, she stirred again. Turning over in the bed, she pried open an eye. From beneath a mess of her chestnut locks, she could see that Miranda was sitting up, the robe replaced by a long-sleeved white t-shirt and…Andy couldn't see any more of the outfit, vision obscured by hair and pillow.

"Good afternoon," Miranda stated, her eyes not leaving the Book in front of her, edges of multi-colored sticky notes visible along the horizon of Andy's vision.

"Mmmm." Andy raised up, propping herself up on her elbows to silently watch the review process while studying her bedmate at the same time. Miranda's hair was perfectly coiffed, as usual, but what Andy really enjoyed seeing was the fact that Miranda's face was still natural – she hadn't put on her make-up as yet. Andy felt a certain privilege in being allowed beyond the other woman's usual walls of protection.

"What time is it?"

Miranda flipped a page, scribbled a note across a picture, "A quarter past seven."

She watched as Miranda studied another page. The woman made a clicking sound with her tongue, scribbled furiously.

"Um, how do you know what time it is without looking?"

Miranda glanced up from the Book, grey-blue eyes twinkling at Andy over the lenses of her reading glasses, vision focusing on exposed cleavage.

"Internal clock."

"Really?" Andy raised her head up a little more, scanning the bedside tables. No clock. She turned over and sat up, looking around the room. Not a digital or mechanical clock in sight. She relaxed back down on one side, now propped on just the one elbow.

"You doubt my testimony, Counselor?" There was a teasing tone to Miranda's voice.

"Just verifying the facts." Andy finally realized that Miranda's vision was focused on her chest. Smiling wickedly, she reached up with her free hand and gently pretended to scratch along several inches of lace trim over her left breast. Miranda bit her lower lip and she shifted her gaze back to the Book for a second before returning to the camisole.

"And you think a quarter past seven justifies a greeting of 'good afternoon'."

"Andrea, the sun and I have been up for hours."

"Hours?"

"Four thirty."

Andy groaned, collapsing down against the mattress for a moment, "You're a morning person."

"Always have been." Miranda returned her attention to the Book in front of her, although the pen in her hand remained still.

"So, you've been going over this since you woke up?" Andy tapped the spiral bound volume sitting in Miranda's lap.

"I did my stretches, showered, dressed, coffee and then, yes. This."

"I think I preferred that silk robe," Andy commented, noticing the loose-fitting grey yoga pants hiding Miranda's shapely legs.

Miranda's smile lit up her face, eyes crinkling and cheeks infused with a warm glow.

Andy sat up fully and placed a kiss on the nearest of those cheeks.

Miranda tilted her face towards Andy, reached out, and pulled her in for another kiss. Someone's hands pushed the Book to the side and both of them pulled at each other, Andy eventually sprawling over the older woman.

"Ow." Miranda reached up to remove her reading glasses and toss them in the direction of the bedside table, followed shortly by her pen. She grasped Andy's shoulders and turned over, pinning Andy to the mattress. A hand found perch on Andy's camisole-covered breast, squeezing then pulling the dark material down to graze fingertips over the goose-pimpled flesh, warming the skin as she went.

Andy felt Miranda's moist kisses trailing along her throat, a tongue probing the notch at the top of her breastbone. The tongue retracted and the kissing resumed, moving towards the exposed breast. Andy gasped as Miranda's teeth grazed her puckering nipple. While the woman nipped, sucked, and licked at her nipple, one hand pressed against the underside of her exposed breast, the other hand tugging down the material still covering her other breast.

Andy arched her chest upwards, now fully awake and very aroused. She used one hand at the back of Miranda's head, gently clutching at hair. Miranda slowly kissed across Andy's chest, gently brushing her lips into a valley before climbing the upwards curve of the opposite breast. Andy glanced down to see Miranda grinning like a Cheshire cat before firmly biting at the very erect nipple.

"Oh. Oh."

Between nips and licks, Miranda murmured something unintelligible.

"What?" Andy replied, not truly caring what the woman had said, mostly because she was afraid that repeating the comment would require a pause in the passion being unleashed upon her.

Miranda raised her head, hair tousled, "Andrea, did you have a question?" Palms continued to press against firm breast tissue, massaging as she dared Andy to speak again.

"I thought, I thought you said something."

Impatiently, the older woman rolled her eyes, "I said 'So good.'" With a sigh, Miranda cast her gaze back to one of Andy's breasts, lowering her head to suck sensitive flesh.

"Mmm- Miranda. Oh. Oh, yes." One of Andy's hands reached down, landing on the fabric of Miranda's top. She tugged and pulled at it.

"Off."

Miranda ignored her, kissing her way back up, trailing fingers along ribs, along sternum, caressing her lips along the base of Andy's neck.

"Off," Andy pleaded.

Miranda raised her head, brought her lips down upon Andy's. As they hungrily kissed, Andy's impatience to feel Miranda's skin led her hands down Miranda's sides, then back up, clasping the shirt hem. There was a brief pause as their torsos separated enough for the shirt to be freed, and they both took a moment to gulp in air while Andy yanked the white cotton shirt over the woman's head.

"No bra?" Andy mumbled, both excited at the concept, but also irritated that she hadn't noticed the lack of bra before this moment.

"I had…hopes." Miranda gasped out.

Andy rolled their bodies over, blood thundering in her ears as she took hold of the camisole bunched up around her midsection and divested herself of the garment altogether.

The firm, warm skin pressing down on her own soft flesh caused Miranda to release a slow moan that seared Andy's groin, which she reflexively pressed against a hip. With a start, she felt Miranda pushing her thigh up, the pressure causing delicious agony.

They slowly rolled back over, Andy sliding her hands over the exposed skin of Miranda's back, thoroughly enchanted by the smooth texture and soft pliability as she massaged her hands slowly down, pulling Miranda's hips against her. She felt a hand slide between them, caressing her stomach before moving across the boxer briefs and down to where the cloth ended high on her thigh.

Miranda's hand slid behind her, squeezing the firm posterior muscles of her right thigh.

"Mmm..."

Fingers teased under the bottom edge of the briefs, circling forward, climbing up to the crease of Andy's groin before retreating.

"Remove these."

"Please?" Andy's voice suggested, breathlessly.

Miranda raised her eyes to glare at Andy, whose own face registered shock that such a challenge had escaped her lips. They stared at each other for a moment. The older woman smirked.

"Please what?" She cupped Andy through the briefs, fingers teasing the fabric.

"Please…please…Mir-anda." Nimble fingers had crept up her abdomen and then slid back down snaking their way between the briefs and moist curls.

She wasn't sure, but Andy thought she heard a gasp as fingertips dipped into her slick, warm folds. Suddenly, Miranda's lips were on hers as the older woman stroked against her clitoris. Andy's arms tightly held Miranda against her, lower lip being sucked between the other woman's teeth even as two fingers slid into her.

Fingers pumped and twisted, and Andy felt her body clench, then shudder, her body exploding.

"Thank you," Andy managed to whisper as her senses returned to her. She felt Miranda slowly remove her hand, wiping fingers gently against the boxers before wrapping around her hip and pulling her in close.

As Miranda nuzzled her neck, holding the younger woman against her, Andy enjoyed each breath entering her lungs.

"Considering how cautious you've been, this was a welcome surprise."

Miranda pulled her head back a bit to stare into Andy's warm chocolate irises.

"You were present when we spoke – in the plane, in the car. I am under the belief things were resolved. I see no reason why moving forward would be a surprise."

Andy raised an eyebrow, "But last night-"

Grey-blue eyes rolled, "Last night, as I explained, I'm simply not a night owl."

The younger woman, for some reason, found the eye-roll endearing at this moment and leant in to kiss a meticulously arched brow.

"That was a wonderful way to wake up," she tickled her fingers against Miranda's warm ribs. Feeling the older woman squirm a little, she tickled a little more, chasing Miranda across the bed, onto her back. Her face hovering over the patrician nose, the dancing grey-blue eyes, and the most relaxed smile she had ever seen grace Miranda's face.

"You are so beautiful," she leant in and began dropping the lightest of kisses along a high cheekbone, down to the small, pert mouth. Her hand traced up from ribs to a warm, soft breast. She gave it a slight squeeze, her forefinger brushing against the nipple.

"An-drea," the husky voice sending a wave of pleasure through her as she continued to caress the body beneath her. As Andy brought her lips, tongue to Miranda's earlobe, she slid her hand down to a hip, pulling it up against her descending thigh.

Andy's brow furrowed in frustration as she paused to grasp material and forcibly yank the yoga pants down.

"Hopeful enough to skip the underwear, too?" Andy queried as she bowed her head to look down Miranda's body, long locks of her dark hair falling in a cascade around her face. When she tilted her head back, her irises were thin, amber rings of fire surrounding her dilated pupils.

"You were hopeful."

Miranda's hands, shaking slightly, rose to Andy's face as it hovered over her. Pulling the hair back, she cupped Andy's cheeks.

Neither spoke for a moment as they gazed upon one another. Then, Andy lowered her lips to Miranda's chest as her fingers worked to remove the yoga pants altogether. She felt knees bend, making it easier to slip the clothing off. She pressed a palm high on Miranda's inner thigh and slid it down, then danced her fingertips faintly back up again.

"Oh, wow. You are sooo wet," Andy's voice full of awe as she slid a couple of fingers between folds. Her thumb brushed Miranda's already swollen clit, eliciting a small gasp and a buck of the hips. She kissed and nipped along a clavicle while tickling a fingertip at her mate's opening.

An arm clutched at her back, causing Andy to smile against the warm skin under her mouth. Slowly, she pressed her finger inside, then slid it back out. Tilting her head to watch as her hand moved over Miranda's sex, Andy could smell the intoxicating scent of Miranda's desire.

As her finger slowly moved in and out of Miranda, thumb teasing her clit, Andy kissed her way across to the nearest breast, gently biting the swollen nipple. She licked and nipped down to the tender tissue at the underside of the soft mass, then worked lower to explore Miranda's navel with the tip of her tongue.

It took every ounce of self-control for the lawyer to move slowly, temptation just inches away. She laid wet kisses in a trail over a prominent pubic bone, descending into the short, sparse dark red curls interspersed with glistening white hairs.

At this point, Andy shifted her body so she was could tuck her right arm under one thigh, her hand curling around to spread open moist lips. As the fingertips of her left hand continued to tease Miranda's opening, she lowered her mouth to blow warm puffs of air over a pearlescent clit.

"Oh!"

Andy grinned at the exclamation, took pity, and gently began to stroke her tongue over the spot, lapping up the moisture.

"Mmm," her lips closed over Miranda's now quite firm bud, sucking it into her mouth as a finger continued to tease at the woman's opening. Within seconds, Andy felt thighs closing around her ears as the older woman's body tensed.

Andy's left arm pulled one thigh away a little, her hand gently massaging the expanse of skin. She lifted her lips, took a breath.

"Shh, relax." She kissed a random spot along the thigh. "Just let go. I've got you." Andy lowered her head again, sliding her tongue into Miranda's opening before sliding it upwards and across her clit, which she again pulled into her mouth. As she applied gentle suction, her tongue tip teased against the taut flesh. Slowly, Andy slid a fingertip inside.

"Let go," she said again, but the words were almost indecipherable. The vibration of her voice shot up through Miranda's body and the woman gasped, body convulsing. As the legs around her head went limp, Andy gently nuzzled against Miranda's sex, setting off small aftershocks.

She crawled up the warm body, curled against the Editor's side.

Eventually, Miranda felt her vision clearing, her sense of hearing return, and the world around her settle back into place. She reached up and finger-combed her hair.

"That," she cleared her throat, turning towards Andy, "That was well worth waiting more than six years for."

~That's All~

(Feel free to comment on what you did or didn't like. Cheers!)


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